Mr Monk and Mrs Fleming
by Amymimi
Summary: Sharona has a slew of problems back in New Jersey, with one perhaps of murderous proportions. Assistant rivalry, crimes, mysteries, and lies abound....
1. A car accident?

Author Note: This is a sequel to "Mr. Monk Gets Sick," another one of my stories. This story will be slightly better understood if you read "Sick" first, but it doesn't follow it too _too_ closely. If something seems wrong to you, that's because it was first mentioned in "Sick." Enjoy everyone, and please review so I have the initiative to finish this story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Adrian, Natalie, Sharona, Trevor, Julie, Cheryl, Stottlemeyer, Disher, and the other characters of Monk. USA Network and the producers do, and boy, am I jealous.

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"How are you feeling, Mom?" the blonde said to a gently smiling older woman in a hospital bed.

"You don't have to worry about me, Sharona," the woman responded. Cheryl Fleming had completely recovered from the stroke she had had ten months ago, and her speech was flawless as it had once been. Even though no incidents had occurred since then, Sharona was always on edge as to some symptom, some minute speck of a recurrence that her mother might have. It had been tough to notice everything, though, for Sharona had a son to take care of and a husband to avoid.

Sharona sat in a chair next to her mother's bed wearing her scrubs and flat-bottomed tennis shoes.

"I can't help but worry about you. I should have known about that step. It's probably been coming loose for months now."

"That's not your fault. It's in my own house, and _I _didn't even notice it. I'll be out of here before you know it, honey."

"I know, but I just get scared." She leaned in closer to her mother, as the older woman ran a hand along her cheek and winked playfully.

"You worry too much."

Sharona had been sitting at her mother's side on and off all day, for this was the hospital in which she worked. Cheryl Fleming had been admitted this morning by a concerned neighbor who had witnessed the woman's fall as she descended the threshold step to retrieve the paper.

The blonde nurse glanced up at the loudly ticking wall clock, finding that her shift was up for the evening. Visiting hours had been over for three hours now, for it was eleven o'clock at night.

"Aw, Mom, I've kept you way too long. I should have let you sleep."

"It's alright, Sharona. I'll be home tomorrow."

Sharona stood up next to the bed, and straightened her scrubs.

"If you have any problems, please give me a call, anytime—"

Cheryl reached up and grabbed her daughter's shoulder.

"I'm going to be fine. It was just a fall. I didn't even break anything. I'm in the best place I can be."

"I know, Mom, I know. Goodnight. I love you." She leaned down and kissed her mother on the cheek.

"I love you too, Sharona. Sleep tight, and don't worry about me, okay?" She proceeded to return the kiss, and her daughter left her room with a smile and a little wave as she shut the door.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Sharona drove home from the hospital that night thinking about her mother's recent fall. Even though Cheryl hadn't been hurt, she couldn't help but think of her mother as being unhealthy, for she was staying overnight at the hospital. The nurse couldn't help but think back the last time she had seen Adrian Monk. He had been very sick, possibly on the verge of—nah, he would have recovered fine, even if she hadn't returned, right? Thoughts of her former boss only upset her now, for she had again neglected to leave a contact number or address with him. But the past was the past. _Maybe Adrian's been reinstated in this time. Maybe he's solved Trudy's murder. Maybe he's gotten a new assistant_—jealousy clouded her brain at the thought of him with someone else, and she frowned.

"But _why_?" she heard herself say aloud. She attempted to picture the scenario. Monk, walking down the street, touching every parking meter, with a woman at his side, handing him a wipe each time. The picture in her head of this situation gave her a slight chill. _If he _did_ get a new assistant, would she treat him better than I did? How would she handle his compulsions?_ She shook her head. _I handled him great._ _He'll never get over how great I treated him_—_wait, why am I saying that? I _want_ him to be happy. I _want _him to be cured. God, I'm quite the psycho, hoping he's still pining away for my help—maybe he realized that so he _told_ me I should go… _

She attempted to divert her thoughts by turning on the radio. It snapped on to the smooth sound of Art Garfunkel's voice singing "I Only Have Eyes For You" and she felt her eyes tingling. Yet _another_ reminder of Adrian. She thought back to that evening, after he had returned from his date with Monica Waters. She had never seen him so excited, so giddy, as he had been that night.

Monk had called Sharona to come over for some random reason, but spent a whole hour talking about how great Monica was—and how much she reminded him of Trudy. Truth to tell, she _had_ felt a bit envious of the praise Monica was receiving. If Monica had only known what Adrian had said about her, she may have considered leaving her husband for him.

"—And we went to Trudy's and my favorite restaurant, the Cucina Italia," he began. "Wow, it's changed since I last went there—you wouldn't believe; the chalk board was moved to a different spot, and they _even_ have new salt and pepper shakers. We sat near the jukebox—"

"That's _all_ that's changed? Adrian, my God, you remember _every_ little thing, dontcha?"

He shrugged as he glanced down for a second, and then returned his gaze to Sharona, an unmistakable glimmer in his eye.

"She seemed _really _interested in me, Sharona. She asked me lots of questions, and was fascinated by everything I was saying. Her smile—oh, it's contagious. And then—the clincher—"

He smiled toothily, looking sentimental yet deliriously happy.

"She went over to the jukebox, and—oh, God, I couldn't believe it; it was like a dream, Sharona—she played Trudy's and my song. You know—I'm sure you've heard it—it's by Garfunkel—'I Only Have Eyes For You.' And—and then she turned and just _smiled_ at me as she stood there. She was absolutely beautiful. I actually think my jaw dropped, Sharona. It was the most amazing moment I've had in years."

Sharona couldn't help but smile at the formerly quiet man, spilling his guts to her about the date, as exhilarated as a teenager after his first date. The love he had in him—it was really amazing. So deep, and yet, so innocent and pure. She herself had never felt _that _kind of excitement over someone. Even on her wedding day to Trevor, she had never felt overcome with the kind of love he was feeling for Monica. And she knew for certain that Trevor had never felt that way towards her. A man who felt the way Monk did about the people he loved would never cheat or be verbally abusive.

Rain began to fall as her faraway smile turned to a scowl at the thought of Trevor. _He's probably out screwing around tonight in some sleazy bar_, she mused. _Third night this week that I'll be sleeping alone. The only thing's that actually keeping me from returning to San Francisco is my mom—I know Benjy'd leave here in a heartbeat as well, if it weren't for his grandma._

Trevor had only been the husband that Sharona wanted him to be for the first two months after their remarriage. His good phase had ended with a case of beer he had bought, and a friend's wild bachelor party. She had watched him get plastered that evening in celebration of their two-month anniversary, hoping he'd just fall asleep afterwards. Instead, a car horn honked at midnight, whereas he stood up, mumbled something unintelligible, and stumbled out the door without any rational excuse.

Now more than a year into Trevor's bad phase, Sharona was sick and tired of everything about her husband, and regretted the decision to return to him. _What I shoulda done—_she thought—_was move my mother out to Frisco with me and enjoy the good weather and the good company._ God, why was she _always _coming to realizations after the fact that it was too late? Her thoughts dissipated immediately—her eyes went wide and mind blank as she gaped in horror at the deer crossing the road less than fifty feet in front of her.

She slammed on the brakes, feeling the grinding sensation of the antilock brakes kicking in, reduced by the new slickness of the road. The deer stood still in the center of the road, apparently blinded by her headlights, and she closed her eyes and set her jaw, knowing that she was going to collide with the animal.

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Please review! 


	2. Sharona, Adrian, and Natalie

Please review, guys. And thank you so very much, greeneyes! I do hope you continue to read and review my story! You've done what no one else has done, and youALONE are the sole reason I updated! I hope you feel special! Let that be a note for others as well. Just... review, even if it's anonymous. I don't care. I haven't finished writing this story, so if I don't get enough encouragement, I'll hit a writer's block and never finish this story. Please, for my sake, review, so that I can have some closure to this story, and you can too, once it's done. (It's gonna be a long one, btw)

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Sharona's mind raced as she prepared for whatever was to come, hastily praying that she make it through this accident, if only for Benjy's and her mother's sake. She had sold her boxy old Volvo station wagon in San Francisco, using the money and her earnings from work with Monk to get herself a Cavalier for work in Jersey, and God, it felt like a death box at the moment. 

After the screech of her brakes subsided, the metallic thud soon followed, along with the loud crunch of the deer's bones breaking with the impact. The hisses following signified the cracking of her radiator, the high-pitched crackling the glass of a headlight shattering.

Before she was helplessly flung forward, dangerously close to the steering wheel, the airbag erupted in the nurse's face, violently throwing her head back against the headrest. The seatbelt held her body against the seat firmly, the tightened bands cutting into her skin with their death-grip. The deer's torso slid a distance up the hood, crumpling the metal like paper, which emitted a thunderous sound as Sharona gritted her teeth in the darkness of her own eyelids, struggling to hold her breath as the expanded airbag suffocated her in its turgidity. The Cavalier's tire went up over some broken-off part of the deer—either that or the bumper—and the car came to an abrupt halt.

It was another minute before Sharona took a breath. Another minute after that before she opened her eyes. When she finally opened her eyes, her arms went up instinctively to push the confining airbag away from her face. Her heart was pumping erratically, and she shuddered with each forceful, rapid thump of each heartbeat, imagining the organ pumping all of her blood out of her body through her wounds as she succumbed to the betrayal of her own heart.

As she ran her hands over her clothing, she realized that she was not bleeding. However, her left arm was sore to the touch and made a creepy popping sound as she lowered it from her escapade with the airbag. Her chest ached with every breath, and her neck was immovable from the pain shooting through it.

"Oh, God," she said aloud as she kept her neck stiffened, for fear of more pain. _I probably have a broken arm. And broken ribs. I'll probably die from massive internal bleeding, or something. What the hell am I gonna do? _

Her headlights were still on, piercing the rainy mist in front of her vehicle. Through the spiderweb of cracks that now was her windshield, Sharona observed an entire herd of deer standing around the road, as if out for revenge for killing one of their own. It was quite creepy, and sent a shiver down her spine. _This isn't even a spot in the road that deer frequent_, she thought. _There are two sheer_ cliffs_ jutting up on both sides of the road, and tons of that barbed-wire fencing. _

Without moving her sore neck, she reached down to remove her seatbelt so that she could retrieve her purse. The deer didn't even seem frightened by the fact that less than 15 yards away there was a lit-up vehicle, and her, smelling strongly of hospital, cursing away in the driver's seat, less than a foot away from a dead comrade on her hood.

After several pained minutes of reaching for her purse, she retrieved it and most of its spilled contents from the passenger-side floor. _I can't stay in this godforsaken car anymore_, she thought. _I need to get out of here now, before I have a conniption fit._

She dialed the number for the hospital as she exited her vehicle, clenching her teeth to keep from crying out. She had worked in the cardiac floor of the hospital a few months before and knew that Pam Benty, one of her good friends, was working tonight. The deer stood like ghosts, observing her warily as she moved to the side of the road and leaned against the rock of the cliff nearby, listening for a ring.

A woman in her mid-thirties answered the phone; she had been right about Pam.

"Hello, Pam? It's me, Sharona."

"_Hey, Sharona. It's been awhile since I've seen you. How are you?_"

"Well, not so good, Pam. I was in a car accident with a deer, on, uh—"

The woman on the other end cut her off.

"_Oh, God, Sharona! Are you okay?_"

"I may have broken some ribs, uh, maybe my arm. Not really sure though."

"_Why didn't you call 911? This is just a nurse's station. Do you want me to tell the ER to send you an ambulance?_"

Sharona sighed, kicking the ground. She couldn't arrive in an ambulance. This had to be low-key, for her mother was staying at that very same hospital and might overhear what happened, and of course, for her son Benjy's sake. _May as well not scare him any more than I have to, arriving home all beat up with a totaled car._ _All my coworkers know that I try to tough things out if I can help it, so why should this be any different? _

"Nah, but could you have someone there pick me up ASAP? These creepy deer are just standing around, looking at me like they know something I don't know."

"_Okay, where are you, Sharona? I'll let them know right away._"

"I'm on Samson Ave, about a mile from the bridge."

"_A deer, on Samson Ave? I wonder how the hell _that _could have happened._"

Sharona couldn't help but chuckle. "You're telling _me_! It's bizarre! Not only one, but there's a whole _herd_ of them staring at me right now!"

"_I'm telling them right now, Sharona!_" Sharona could hear her loudly exclaiming the news to her coworkers at the nurse's station."_Susan! Gary! Hey Geena! Come over here, Donna! Listen, guys! Sharona Fleming was just in a bad car accident! Will someone go pick up Sharona Fleming on Samson Avenue near the bridge?_"A pause, as if someone was asking her something. Pam's answer was all that could be heard. "_It sounds like her car was totaled. She thinks she may have broken some bones.… Yes, this is her on the line._" She soon returned to the phone, in a normal voice."_You just sit tight, okay, Sharona? Don't worry, help is on the way!_"

"Alright then. Thank you so much, Pam."

The women soon hung up and Sharona was left to her thoughts, and the silent glare of the glowing deer eyes around her.

_Thank God the rain stopped_, she mused, gazing at the fuzzy red glow of the Cavalier's taillights. _I wonder when they'll get here_. She checked her watch. It was now midnight. _I wonder who will come get me. Gary? He always was eager-to-please. Susan or Donna might, but I've never heard of Geena. She must be new. God, these deer are really creepin' me out._

Sharona walked over to the front of her car to the driver's side, and leaned in to turn on the emergency flashers. No use getting re-hit by someone flying up over the hill. There was a funky smell to the air around her vehicle. _Why are all these deer hanging around the reek of this dead one? _Rage built within her and she ran at the lingering animals, causing them to snort and hightail down the road.

The nurse made a call to AAA, but the driver said he couldn't be there for another hour, for Samson Ave. was far from his vicinity. Grumbling, she told him where her car would be located so that at that time he could pick it up himself. Her arm and chest hurt too badly to wait for some tow-truck driver.

In about thirty-five minutes Geena arrived, and pulled her car beside Sharona's mangled Cavalier. The blonde nurse hopped in, and they soon reached the emergency entrance of the hospital.

_Thank God Geena is here to help me fill out some of this crap. If I wasn't an employee here I probably wouldn't have gotten in here for another couple of hours. I'm surprised she was the one to show up, considering I've never even met her before, but she seems nice enough. _Since her dominant arm was too painful to move, let alone write, she had Geena sign the patient sheets for her and get her prepped to be examined by the doctor. Once she arrived inside the emergency room, a doctor looked her over and did some x-rays, finding that she had broken five ribs and fractured her left arm. A tendon in her neck was also partially torn, and so she was fitted with a neck brace and her arm was set in a cast. The ribs, he said, would be taken care of with pain medications and limited movement. She'd have to take off work, which sucked because she was the only one in her house making any income.

_How am I gonna explain all this to Benjy? And to Mom? I'll just wait until tomorrow to tell her_, she deduced, beginning to stand back up from her examination. _By then she'll be home and safe and—_her thoughts were interrupted by Pam approaching her with the most sorrowful look on her face.

Her jaw dropped at the sadness of Pam's expression. She stumbled towards her friend, wondering what could have possibly given her that look. Had her face been damaged as well? She had gotten off easy for what had happened to her, so what _was_ it?

"Pam, what's wrong? I'm alright; you don't have to worry about m—"

"It's…your mother," she stammered. "Shortly after you called, she went into cardiac arrest." She approached Sharona until they were barely a foot apart. "Sharona—we did all we could but… she didn't make it. I'm so sorry…."

Barely had the words settled upon her mind when Sharona collapsed onto the ground.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"Natalie, do you know where the colander is?"

Adrian Monk had just returned from an evening of grocery shopping with Natalie, and was getting ready to make some spaghetti, setting out the ingredients and supplies on the kitchen island. The short-haired blonde appeared from the dining room with a bag of frozen chicken.

"Um, no I don't. Do you even know what it's for?"

He glared at her. "Of _course_ I do. It's for straining vegetables and noodles."

"Okay, well, _I _didn't know _that_. I honestly wasn't sure." She gave him an apologetic smile, for she realized that her question had come out a bit sardonic.

She proceeded to put the chicken in the freezer as Adrian carefully arranged the ingredients and kitchen supplies.

"I don't know why the baggers always put the buns with the pasta," he scoffed, removing the slightly smashed bun bag. "Items should be bagged according to _weight_, not food group. _Everyone_ knows that."

"Hey, if detective work gets boring for you, Mr. Monk, you could be a great grocer. You sure know more than I thought you did about food."

"I have my moments," he murmured, twitching his shoulder. His confidence soon faded. "Oh, God, I don't think I have a 2-quart saucepan."

Frantically, the detective scampered over to the cupboards and searched for the coveted item. However, all the saucepans were either larger or smaller in volume than desired.

"We have to go back to town now," he announced, walking back over to the kitchen island. "I need a 2-quart saucepan."

"What for?"

"The recipe calls for a 2-quart saucepan, for the meat sauce. I don't have any—"

"You can always use something a little bigger. It's not going to hurt anyth—"

"It doesn't say that, though. It should state which saucepans are appropriate if there is more than one that can be used."

"Please, Mr. Monk. The store closes at 9 pm, and—" she glanced at the wall clock—"Oops. It's 9:05 now, too late. Please, I'm really hungry. We've been gone all day, shopping in a _food_ store, no less, and I d—"

Monk shook his head, in denial of the fact that he'd have to deviate from the recipe. "—Well, which one should I use instead?"

"I'd say the closest one above 2 quarts." She walked over to the pan cupboard, and pulled out a 4 quart saucepan. As he watched with mouth agape, she put it down next to him.

"Natalie, th—that's two _times_ too big!" He grabbed the saucepan from the kitchen island and proceeded to put it back in the cupboard. "What would you like to eat instead? We can't have the spaghetti."

"How about this? We order out. Do you want Chinese or pizza?"

"What do you and Julie prefer? Isn't she coming over soon?"

"I already told you, Mr. Monk. She's at a friend's house for the night. She's not coming over."

"For the entire _night_? Like, she's going to be sleeping over in some… stranger's house? How can you just… let her do that?"

"For your information, Ashley is not a stranger to her, nor is her mother a stranger to me. Don't worry so much all the time. Let me help you."

She crossed over to Monk's side of the kitchen island and reached across him for the meat sauce.

"How many cans of this did you buy?"

"Four. Why?"

"Let's make two cans tonight then. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse—"

"Oh, please… don't." The detective covered his eyes, trying to block that picture from his mind.

The pair worked together on the doubled-up recipe, making a delicious, huge bowl of spaghetti.

"It's been a long time since I've eaten this late—" Monk began to say, but then halted, looking thoughtful.

"When was the last time?"

He finished up his forkful of spaghetti, and then continued. "It was with Sharona. I couldn't sleep, so she came over with some chicken pot pie. Even though it wasn't a Thursday, I still ate it, but it really felt strange."

"Do you remember why you couldn't sleep?"

"The next day marked the seventh year she's been… gone…."

"Well, I can understand that! Why, in a couple of days, it will have been the seventh year without _Mitch_…. Wait a second, what is today?"

"The twenty-fourth."

"It's _tomorrow_. Tomorrow was the day he was killed…."

"You mean, tomorrow is the anniv—"

"Okay, okay, sorry I phrased it wrong. I'd better go." She stood up, avoiding eye contact with her employer. By leaving now, she'd be abandoning the dishwashing process, but knew that Monk would insist upon rinsing the dishes himself, as well as placing them into the dishwasher. Throughout her life, she had always come across as the tough girl, the survivor, and she couldn't show him how much this upcoming anniversary bothered her, and her almost forgetting about it. She knew this day was coming, but it had crept up on her, just like every anniversary had.

"Good spaghetti, Mr. Monk. See you tomorrow."

He stood up, confused. "What's wrong? You never just… leave like that."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she snapped, startling herself with her upset showing through. "Okay, I'm sorry how that came out. Have a good night!"

She unlocked the door without turning around. _Seven_. _Seven had always been Mitch's lucky number, and now it's a number of lonely years without him. A number of years that Mitch hasn't been able to live… with me, with Julie_. And now her eyes were tearing up as she fumbled with the deadbolt; _oh, God, why won't the door unlock_?

Adrian knew that the anniversary of Mitch's death was more important to her than she wanted him to see, yet found himself following her to the door.

_I remember that night, with Sharona, the seventh year after it all happened... I was trying to hold back as well. I actually made myself sick from trying to keep my emotions bottled up. I think that's why I called her initially, because I thought I was sick. She didn't even ask any questions; she just showed up at my door with a chicken pot pie she had made for Thursday. It all had happened on a Wednesday night, around 11:36pm. We ate and talked; that was all I needed. Some company. _

"But does _she_?" he mumbled aloud to himself. _Oh, thank goodness she's not paying any attention_, the detective mused.

Natalie had just opened the door when Monk arrived and caught it behind her.

"Natalie," he managed to blurt. She stopped, but did not turn around.

"What, Mr. Monk?"

"Uhm…. Well, the thing is, I know how hard this, uhm, type of thing is, so—" A quick sigh of exasperation, and he continued. "If… you'd rather not stay alone, you can stay here for the night…."

After his offer, the tightness around her shoulders and neck subsided, and she managed to swipe an arm across her eyes before turning around to face him.

"I don't even have pajamas with me—" She stopped herself from continuing. "You know what? Never mind. I don't want to burden you with my problems. I'll be fine; don't worry, okay?"

She turned away, attempting to wave him off, but he stayed put.

"You'll just make yourself sick, keeping it all in, Natalie…."

_He really _can_ be thoughtful_, she mused. _Right now though I hate myself for almost forgetting about the day…_

Monk stared at Natalie's back, remembering a night very similar to this that ended in sickness. _Sharona's visit ten months ago_. _Well, it wasn't really a visit; I was ill in the hospital, with double pneumonia, and she saved my life—_and_ did my laundry while I was incapacitated. The captain's call was the only reason why she returned. I should have called her to ask about her mother… but she never even gave me her number…. She ended up getting sick too. Some company_ I_ am. Maybe I should shut my mouth and let Natalie go home._

Natalie had since turned around and was waving her hands in Monk's face. He returned to reality to find Natalie staring at him worriedly with glassy eyes.

"Mr. Monk, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I—just—I guess I just zoned out; I'm sorry."

"Goodnight, Mr. Monk. Thanks for the offer, though; I really appreciate it."

She began walking away again. _Why does she have to make this so difficult for me? _Even though it was killing him inside, he knew that she shouldn't have to stay alone tonight. Now, if Julie were there with her, things would be different, but she'd have the whole night to her thoughts and memories of Mitch.

"Natalie, wait. Don't leave."

_Maybe I should just give in_, she thought. _He's awfully persistent about this. Maybe he knows better than to let me stay alone. _

"Okay, okay, you win," she said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'll stay, if it makes you feel any better."

She followed him back into his apartment, and stood in the hallway as he retrieved clean sheets from the closet.

"Here, these are for you," he said, handing her the neatly wrapped sheet set. "I cleaned them two days ago, so if there's any dust or… pollen or anything, I have three other sheet sets. However, you may find that they are worse, because they haven't been cleaned since Tuesday, and th—"

"They're perfect, Mr. Monk. Thank you." She gave him a grateful smile and headed out to the living room, where the couch awaited its transformation into a bed.

Monk couldn't watch the couch being undone, the room being cramped into a smaller floor area by the addition of the spread-out mattress. He'd wait in his room, patiently, until she said it was alright to enter the area again. That meant that he couldn't even remove the dishes from the dining room table, which he had actually neglected to do while she was excusing herself quietly from his apartment. There'd be a clear view of the unraveling of his couch, and _that_ he couldn't handle at the moment.

Several minutes passed, and soon Natalie appeared at his bedroom door. "It's all done, Mr. Monk. I got done with bathroom stuff, so it's all yours. I also took the dishes and silverware from the table and rinsed them off. I was going to put them in th—"

All of a sudden Monk was panicked. "You didn't put them _in_ the dishwasher, did you? I always re-rinse each dish _twice_ before putting it in. Please tell me you didn't pu—"

"I didn't put them in because I knew how you felt about it. I know you better than you think I do." She flashed him a devious little smirk.

"Then why are you still here?"

Natalie rolled her eyes at the comment.

"Let me ask you this: why do you put yourself down like that all the time? You are a _great _person. You are an honest man who is great at his job. A genius, in fact. The absolute best. I would reinstate you to the police force in a heartbeat, because you deserve it more than anyone in the world."

Adrian felt chills down his spine at the unexpected praise. Not that he didn't get praised every time he solved a case, but the fact that a fairly new assistant was giving him so many compliments at once, it left him speechless. Needless to say, it actually made him uncomfortable, and he twitched his shoulder as he continued to watch her for signs of mockery.

"Did you mean what you just said?"

"Yes. With all of my heart."

There was no awkward pause, no second for her to consider. She just said it straight out that she meant it all. _And_ using such words to express that she did indeed mean it. He immediately felt guilty for assuming that she might be kidding, before he had asked.

A strange feeling arose in Adrian. It was a feeling seldom felt, if only for a few seconds at a time, but this time it was like a constant buzz that lasted as long as Natalie's convincing smile. He felt _confident_, actually _proud_ of himself. He smiled back at his assistant, thanking her wordlessly for the boost.

_Now all she needs is a boost_, he mused. She's_ the one about to have a bad night._

It was at this point that Adrian faltered. He had problems giving people compliments, especially if it was a woman who was not Trudy. _Oh, with Trudy it was simple. It just flowed straight from my heart and out of my mouth. Now it's like pulling teeth for me to think of something nice to say to Natalie. She's probably expecting it; that's why she's still standing there staring at me. Say something, Monk._

"Goodnight, Mr. Monk. Thank you for letting me stay here."

And with that she disappeared into the darkened study, followed only by the sound of the rustling of the sheets.

Sighing with exasperation, Monk shuffled into the kitchen to place the dishes in the dishwasher. They were sparkling, sparkling from _her_ method, whatever it was. The dishes did not need a re-rinsing. Neither did the silverware. They were rinsed to perfection. Smiling softly, he placed the dishes and silverware in the dishwasher and finished up his nighttime bathroom routine before heading to bed.**

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**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think oftheR&R processas a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy


	3. The Call

Wow! Thank you to all my reviewers!

Aldebaran8423 - I'm so happy you reviewed my story, and I'm glad you like it so far. And did I mention, your Monk haikus are AWESOME!

bringirl2001 - Thank you for reviewing, bringirl! I'm really glad you like the way I'm portraying Natalie! I'm trying to make it as close to the real (well, not really real) Natalie as I can. She's very nice to Adrian and I'd like more people to know that with my story.

nomadff7 - Thanks for all your nice comments in your review! I too thought the way that USA had Sharona leave was, well, lacking, and I gave her a better reason to finally go in "Mr. Monk Gets Sick" and I'll touch upon that way more in this story, which can be considered a sequel of "Sick." I hope that you find the time to read "Sick" as well; people really seemed to enjoy it. Thank you for mentioning Randy and Stottlemeyer, because at first I was thinking of leaving them out, and because I only have one or two more chapters written ahead of this one, I can make them reappear after that. I felt bad not giving them a place yet, and I'm glad you pointed that out!

angelwriter2492 - I'm glad that this story was the first Monk story you've read, and I hope you get to read my others as well. This is, in part, a continuation of an older story I wrote, "Mr. Monk Gets Sick," which deals exclusively with Sharona before Natalie entered the picture. Thanks again for your nice review!

greeneyeses007 - Yay! A second review from you! I'm so glad you've enjoyed this story so far! I'm also glad that you liked the way the wreck was described. I was the passenger in a car accident this past January and so I decided to give the accident more feeling and details.

KittyDoggyLover - I'm so happy that you reviewed! I like your name too! I hope that you continue to like my story, because this is gearing up to be my longest story yet!

I hope you guys all continue to review, and others add to this list! Well, on with the story!

* * *

The next morning, Adrian awoke to the sound of a bowl quietly clinking with a spoon. He stretched out, fixed the bed, and headed into the kitchen to find Natalie standing at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal. 

"Did you bring that cereal, because I don't remember buying tha—"

"No, actually, it's yours. It's been expired for a while though, so I didn't think you'd mind if I ate some."

"Mind! You're going to get sick!" He raced over to the island, grabbing the box of Frosted Flakes and frantically checking the label to find that it had expired last month. He began pacing back and forth rapidly with the box of cereal in hand. "Are you sure these are _mine_? Things like this just don't happen! Oh, God, should I induce vomiting? Here, let me get you some Pepto Bismol for that nausea—"

"Mr. Monk, I am _not_ nauseated! It's not that bad. The cereal is still crispy; that's what I judge it on."

"Crispy? Crispy with _bacteria _and _viruses_ and pollen and dust and dander—"

"First of all, you don't have any living plants in here, so no pollen. Second of all, no pets, so no dander. Third of all, you dust several times a day, so no dust. And fourth of all, you bleach and clean everything, so no bacteria and viruses! That covers it all, I think." She thought for a second. "Yep. So it's still good."

"But I go outside, and come back, and you do, and Julie, and—"

"Just like I said last night, Mr. Monk, you keep your house germfree. Complete sterilization."

He knew that certainly wasn't true. After Sharona had left, he had gotten very ill, and that was from his house_ alone_, because he didn't go anywhere during those five months.

"Actually, that's not entirely true, because at one point in the not so distant past I became very ill—"

The ringing telephone interrupted his thoughts, and he answered it from the cordless in the kitchen. He strode into the dining room with the phone, gazing out of the blinds as he greeted the caller with a simple 'hello.'

"_Is this Adrian Monk_?" a concerned woman's voice said.

"Yes… Who's calling?"

"_This is Pam Benty from Saint Barnabas Medical Center_."

"Uhm, which is _where_?"

"_New Jersey. Didn't Sharona tell you that's where she's been working_?"

"No. What is this about?"

He was taken aback. Why was someone in New Jersey trying to contact him, especially from the same hospital where Sharona supposedly worked? It didn't make any sense, but he didn't have to wait long to get answers.

"_Mr. Monk, I don't know how to say this, but please wait before you assume or say anything. Last night, Sharona was in a car accident; now, she got away with a few broken bones, nothing too major, but her mother passed away last night as well. She doesn't know that I called you, but I just wanted to let you know what has happened to her, since you two were pretty close at one time_."

Adrian's jaw had dropped as he stood transfixed in front of the window. The world around him in his apartment had all but faded completely from his mind as he imagined the scenario.

"Wh-what happened to Sharona?" he managed to stammer, feeling instantly light-headed and woozy. "An accident with wh—how did it happen?"

"_She was driving home last night from work and hit a deer. She'll recover just fine from that, Mr. Monk. It's her mother that worries me_…"

"What do you mean?"

"_She's been in denial ever since I told her that her mother had died. When I told her, she passed out cold for almost a whole minute. Almost broke her arm in _another_ spot when she fell down."_

"Well, how _did_ Sharona's mother die?" he asked.

"_It was a heart attack. She was already in the hospital from a fall earlier that morning. She passed away shortly after Sharona called from the accident to have someone come get her._ _Sharona blames herself for the whole thing, because after she was in the accident, she called the nurse's station on the cardiac floor, who she thinks could have been down there to help her mother, when it happened. There was nothing we could have done, though; it happened so fast."_"

"Oh my God. What should I do? What can I do, to help her?"

"_Why don't you give her a call sometime; tell her you're thinking of her. Or… well, I don't know what you can do, because she doesn't know I called you_."

"I don't have her number anyway," Adrian answered. "She never gave it to me."

"_Well, _I'm_ going to give you her number_," Pam responded. She proceeded to give him both Sharona's cell phone number and home phone number.

He made a mental note of the numbers, knowing that he'd never have to write them down to remember it. They were the elusive Holy Grail; the number he wished he'd had in his earliest days of her absence. The number she didn't bother to tell him after she'd left him a second time. _God, how can I even _consider_ being angry with her now_, he thought. _She doesn't deserve to have something like this happen to her._

"_In case you don't mind me nibbing, Mr. Monk_," the voice on the other end said, pulling him out of his reverie, "_why _did_ she not give you her number? She worked for you for years. I mean, you sound like a nice enough guy._"

It was a nibby question that made him uncomfortable as hell, although she had tried to pad it with the compliment at the end. He rubbed his hand on the back of his sweat-covered neck, considering whether or not to respond. _I may as well answer her, _he supposed._ She's already done more for me in this two-minute conversation than Sharona has done in almost a year and a half._

"Well, uh, she just never got around to giving me her number."

"_Oh_." The answer on the other end was brief. Too brief.

"Wait… has she _said_ anything about me to you?" It was the perfect time to be nosey, for the question she had asked him _was_ rather personal.

"_Well, no. But if she sees someone being nit-pic—oh, well, you know…."_

"No, _what_?"

"_She's reminded of you, at times. But I'd better go, Mr. Monk. Maybe I shouldn't have given you that number at this time. Please just wait a few days and I'll call you again if she gets worse, alright? She needs to be bad enough that she won't get mad at me for handing out her information_."

"Uhm, okay." The last sentence confused him. "Just… could you update me on how she's doing? Unlike her, I'd _like_ to keep in touch," he snapped.

Upon uttering the words, Monk covered his mouth in shock of what he had just said. There Sharona was, with a dead mother and broken bones and he was still holding a _grudge_?

"Wait, I—I'm sorry," he quickly added. "I don't know what's wrong with me—"

"_That's alright, Mr. Monk. I'll let you know what's going on. Goodbye_."

The pair hung up and he walked over to the kitchen table and sat down, miserable. Natalie had not eavesdropped on his conversation, yet she noticed his new forlorn state and walked over to him, sitting down across from him at the table.

"What's wrong, Mr. Monk? Who was that on the other end?"

"Oh, it's some nurse that works with Sharona, my nurs—well, ex-nurse. She—Sharona was in a car accident and her mother died on the same night. She actually gave me her—I-I actually _have_ Sharona's number now, but she told me not to call Sharona." He put his head down on the table. "I don't know what to do."

"Call her," Natalie softly responded. "What harm is it gonna do? You were her friend, as well as her boss."

He sat back up, looking utterly miserable. "But here's the thing. Sharona never _gave_ me her number. Ever. And never called me, after she left… Twice. I don't really have a right to call—"

"It's a free country. You can do whatever you want. Call her. Be the better person."

He looked over at Natalie with a big smile on his face. _How is it that she can always make me feel better, no matter what is bothering me? She really _does_ know what to say._

She smiled back at him and patted his shoulder from across the table.

"You're a good person, Mr. Monk. I'm sure you'll make the right decision."

Before he could respond, she got up out of the chair and walked back into the kitchen to eat the remainder of the cereal. He was left with his thoughts and the phone in his hand.

He began punching the numbers into the cordless phone, listening to the tone as each button was depressed. Before he got to the seventh digit, he hung up.

"I can't do this."

"Okay, then don't. You don't have to call her if you don't want to."

"It's not that—it's just… she might get angry and hang up…."

Natalie couldn't help but feel sorry for her employer. _She must have been some kind of a witch, for him to feel that way about how she'll respond to a concerned phone call. He has every right to call her._ She stood up and walked back over to him again.

"Mr. Monk, if she does that, then—" Natalie paused, attempting to empathize with Sharona's situation.

"Then either A, she's still so out of it from her terrible situation that she's inconsolable or B, she truly is a jerk."

"—She's not a jerk," he interjected.

"If you're that scared about it, let _me_ dial the number for you." She proceeded to grab the phone off him and turn on the power button. The dial tone buzzed quietly in the background as Monk attempted to compose his thoughts.

"No—Natalie—I have to do this. If I can't do it, then maybe I'm not meant to do it—at least right now."

"Good thinking." She turned off the phone and handed it back to him. After he took it delicately from her, she rinsed her bowl and spoon off under the spigot, twice, and laid them on the counter. From the kitchen she could hear the tones of the buttons being pressed. Eleven. Enough for the number, the area code, and a 1 in front. Did he even _have_ a long distance plan? She'd listen for a few seconds, just to see if someone was going to answer or if he was going to have to enter more numbers.

The telephone on the other end rang in his ear, inciting him to the possibility that someone might actually answer the phone. _Oh God, maybe it'll be Trevor._ _Or Benjy_. _What'll I say?_

Somehow, Monk let the phone continue to ring by using all the willpower in his body to keep his thumb still. All fear entered his body at the sound of someone picking up the receiver.

"_Hello?_" the voice said. A woman. Sharona.

His throat went dry and cottony and he swallowed to try to regain some moisture.

"_Hello? Who's calling?_" the woman on the other end asked, the voice quivering.

"Sharona?" he managed to croak. He held his breath for the next word. Would she even recognize his voice? It wasn't an uncommon voice… not too high or low or gravelly or breathy—

"_Adrian?_"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. _Was that a good "Adrian" or an angry one_?

"Y-yes, it's me, Adrian Mon—"

"_How'd you get this number?_" she hastily replied, cutting off his words.

_Oh, damn it. I figured she'd ask, but not this soon. I don't want to get that nurse—Pam—in trouble…. God, I'm a horrible liar. I'll never get away with this. _

As a panic attack swallowed Adrian in its midst over the next dead silent minute, the voice on the other end began to speak again.

"_I'm sorry. God, that was so rude of me. Please forget that I asked. How are you, Adrian?_" Her voice was quivering like a leaf, _that_ was easy to tell.

"I'm fine…. How are you?"

He had to be discreet about his questions and responses. He couldn't act like he already knew about what had happened to her. Then he'd have to tell her who told him, which would lead back to Pam giving him her phone number.

"_Not good at all. My mother was murdered last night. She was mur_—" her voice broke off, as she began sobbing— "—_and I was in a car accident, and the whole world's just gone to hell_."

"Oh, God, Sharona, I'm so sorry. How are you doing? Is there anything I can do to help? ...Wait, did you just say your mother was _murdered_?"

He couldn't help but notice her difference of opinion. Apparently she was no longer in denial over the death of her mother. It now was in the mechanism of _how_ she died.

"I'll_ be fine. Just a couple of broken bones, no worries. But yes, I said she was murdered. Right here, in the hospital. While _I_ was on the side of the freakin' road, hangin' out with some deer. I have no doubt in my mind, Adrian._"

**

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**

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy


	4. Uncertainty

**Author's Notes:**

Jesus Freak 87 – Wow! I thought you disappeared, but I'm glad you showed up and was able to read the beginning of the sequel to "Sick." I would have updated sooner, but I wanted to make sure to say something nice to everyone! I hope you really like this, because I have a feeling this is going to be a long and complicated story! Please keep me posted as to what you think!

Ryan Lohner – Thank you for your nice comments. I too was in a car accident a few months ago, and it was such a horrific experience… But now I can write firsthand about things like that, so there's some lesson I learned from it. And yes, wow, I was bitter about the lack of thought the writers put into the exit of Sharona. At least pay her more for the _last_ episode she'd be in, to establish her leaving the picture, ya know? More settling…. I hope you continue to read/review my story, because I love hearing feedback in the midst of writing this story.. I've already changed a couple of things based on feedback (things in the future, that is).

Angelwriter2492 – I'm glad you like my story. I'm writing Natalie to be likeable, like she especially is in season 4. I wasn't kidding when I said I'd review stories I normally wouldn't even go to the genre… I've actually never watched Lost but I'm glad I was able to read your story! I'll have to check whenever you update it again, because it is engaging! I hope you review again, and am glad you've done it a couple of times already… so so glad, in fact.

Elizabeth – I'm so glad you like my story, and I hope you enjoy the update! Let me know if you like it!

Bringirl2001 – Thanks for the nice feedback. I think you will really like Natalie in this story, and there'll be a little bit of a…. hmm, rivalry—between the two women, so I'm looking forward to writing that, and hearing your opinions on it. There will be some sappiness ahead, but I think I've prepared for it well…. Please keep me posted on what you think!

Kiera Kay – Yay! I'm so happy you reviewed my story, and thrice, at that! I knew that you liked "Sick" so when I posted this and hadn't seen you around, I was worried that no one would know it was the sequel. There will be some friendly/unfriendly rivalry between Sharona and Natalie over something eventually, but I haven't yet delved into that aspect! I hope you continue to review!

Alyssa – Thanks for reviewing my story! I'm so glad to see a new reviewer, and I hope you continue to do so, because I've actually been applying reviewers' feedback to my story in the process of making it better. Thank you for the nice compliment. I hope you continue to think that….

Nomadff7 – Wow, I'm very flattered by your wonderful comments! I took your comment about Stot and Randy and will add them earlier to the story than I first intended, but I'm so glad you mentioned them because there would have been a lot longer of a time without them than I would have liked to have. Again, thank you for the comment about Stot and Disher, and I hope you continue to tell me more. I think you'll like "Mr Monk Gets Sick," and it will be helpful to read it later, because events happen in that story that definitely didn't happen on the show, and once Sharona reenters the picture, that'll make a difference in how she'll act.

Bob Wright – Yay! A new reviewer! I've been reading your stories for a long time and am not sure I've reviewed the ones I've read, but I highly admire your work. Now that I have a fast internet connection and free time I can read your Christmas Monk story, because I've been aching to read it for more than a week now and I can never find time to get through the whole thing at one time, because that is what I prefer to do. I like your theory on the conspiracy… That is a very good storyline, and you may be surprised what happens. And I am taking your advice as well on Stot and Disher because it's been way too long without them! Please continue telling me what you think, because I really admire your work and know you'll give me good pointers/tips, etc.

Well…. On with the story!

* * *

Sharona blew her nose quite loudly, and then sat quietly sobbing, waiting for a response from the detective. 

"—Wait, why was she in the hospital?" Adrian implored.

Another sob, and a sigh of exasperation.

"_She fell yesterday morning. Nothing happened, no bones even broke; she was supposed to come home today_."

"How old was your mother?"

She laughed scornfully. "_That's what _everyone's_ been saying. That's _everyone's_ response_." Her laughs turned angry. "_But it's true. I know it_."

"I wasn't meaning to be—I just wondered how old she was…."

"_She's—she _was_—seventy-five_."

"How's Benjy taking all this?"

"_Oh, he doesn't know about my theory, if that's what you mean. He's been—upset, sad, crying, ya know, everything but _vengeful_, like me_."

"What makes you think that she was murdered?"

"_Well, it happened right after I called, everyone said. Like it was planned, or something. She wasn't even on a heart monitor, so her heart was plenty strong. I was there all day, and I checked her vitals every time I went in there, just to be sure, and they were _fine_. I had just talked to her about an hour before, and she was perfect, no complaints_."

Adrian sat at the table, speechless. _I don't know what to say to her,_ he thought._ I don't want to respond to her like everyone else has likely said: 'things happen,' 'you're just upset, Sharona' or 'she was old, Sharona.' I just want to hear her out without taking any side. Besides, she already got a bit perturbed over my question about her mother's age. I didn't even mean anything by it; well, maybe I was trying to rationalize. The woman _is_ old and _did_ have a couple of strokes. I don't know._

"What does Trevor think?" Maybe the change of subject would calm her. It killed him inside to hear her cry: strong, tough Sharona.

"_That son-of-a-bi—excuse me—_Trevor_ hasn't returned home yet_."

"Where did he go? Do you know?"

"Probably some scumball bar, then some random woman's apartment, probably."

"Wait. You mean, he's back to his old ways?"

"_He's _been_ back to his old ways._" She began to cry again. "_Worse than before. I'm an idiot for going back to him. I should have known; once a scumbag, always a scumbag. The only reason I even _stayed_ here was because of my mother._"

"I'm so sorry, Sharona. I hoped that he wouldn't—"

"_You knew all along. You told me not to go back to him. You knew—_"

The intelligible speech ended while she burst into tears for a few minutes. After she had calmed down, Adrian attempted to get more information out of her about her mother. Why was she _considering_ that her mother was murdered? Her mother lived alone, kept to herself, and had even won the _Good Neighbor_ award three years in a row for her kindness and her generous sharing of her yard equipment, sugar, and flour. Cheryl had already had two strokes in the past couple of years, so something in her system wasn't working correctly. _I don't even need to mention that to Sharona, though. She'll just think I'm lecturing her. I don't need to tell her what she already knows._

"Have the doctors ruled out any other causes of death?"

"_Well—_" she sniffled, "_they haven't done an autopsy—oh God, it actually sickens me to say that—yet, and say they have no reason to._"

"Were there nurses or doctors on the scene before she died?"

"_They said there were some nurses there just as she took her last breaths… She was clutching her chest.… Heart attack victims do that._"

The nurse Pam hadn't mentioned this theory or anything near it, so perhaps Sharona was the only one that believed Cheryl had been murdered. Sharona took another breath in preparation to speak again.

"_I _know_ she was murdered. They refuse to do an autopsy on her, saying it'll only hurt me more and that I should calm down and 'return to rationality' before I assume something as outlandish as murder. They even—get this, Adrian—they explained how distorted and cut-up her body would be if they did an autopsy. I think they wanted me to be sick, and forget about it. But I can't._"

"It's only been one day—probably not even that, since—it happened."

"_Are you saying that I should forget it too? Adrian, you _have_ to believe me. I'm sorry that I never kept in contact with you. I'm sorry I've been such a bitch. I'm sorry for all of that. I really am. And I pray that you can find a way to forgive me someday. But I'm _not_ sorry about my theory. It's true._"

"Well—w-what do you want me to do? I… I can't help you from here, and I don't know whe—"

"_Then come out here. I'll pay for your plane ticket. You have to get here—fast, or else they're gonna bury her and I'll never know the truth_."

He was dumbfounded. _No calls for more than a year, and now she's going to pay for me to _fly_ out there_?

"How certain are you of this, Sharona, because I don't want to do all that and find that she re—"

"_I'm one hundred percent certain. More certain than I've ever felt about anything." _

"Well—what about Captain Stottlemeyer? And Lieutenant Disher? You want them to come—too?"

A slight pause. "_They probably can't. I'm sure they have their own cases to investigate out there._"

Monk felt a twinge of hurt at the comment. So she was assuming that _he_ didn't have cases as well? _Ehh, she's probably so out of it that she doesn't know that it's a hurtful remark. _

"So you _don't_ want me to tell them? I can't issue an autopsy myself, even if I _do_ find something—"

"_If you think they could come, let them know what happened. But I really need _you_ here as soon as possible, Adrian. I'm losing it. I need you to make these people believe me; they think I'm just imaging things because I worked with you for so many years and now I'm imagining crime—"_

"Okay, Sharona. I'll tell them about it…." He needed to get off the subject of himself, because it sounded as if Sharona was almost in tears about it.

"Now, who do _you_ think… was the murderer?" he asked her carefully. She sighed before responding.

"_Ya know, I'm really not sure— but I know it was murder…. Oh God. Maybe _Trevor_ did it! I mean, he hasn't come home yet, and he never told me where he was going, which isn't new, but still. Oh, my God! Adrian!_"

"Don't get yourself into a panic, Sharona. We don't know anything yet. Didn't you say he goes out all night often?"

"_Yeah, basically every night._"

"Well, last night was no different than the others then. Did you try to contact him?"

"_No._"

"Then he probably doesn't even know what happened yet. Don't act accusatory or anything, because we still aren't certain that she was even murdered yet."

"I_ am."_

_How can I respond to that? She's so certain it's actually scaring me. What if Trevor _is_ the murderer? God, I'm already acting like I believe her, and I haven't even _seen_ anything yet._

mmmmmm

"_When's the soonest that you can come out here?_" Sharona pleaded. "_I can't let her be buried yet, Adrian, all that funeral stuff, the embalming..._"

"Sharona, I—I'll try to see if I can get tickets for—tonight, or tomorrow. I don't know."

_Oh, no. That means that I'd have to go to the airport—alone. And sit on that giant flying death box—alone. I can't. I would take the captain, but Sharona's right—he _has_ been busy lately. Wait—maybe Natalie will go. She _has_ to. _

"_Please, Adrian. As soon as you can. _Tonight_ if you can. They aren't gonna listen to anything I say until you come out here and see for yourself._"

"Could you—uhm—hold on for a minute, Sharona? I have to, uhm, get something."

The excuse was terrible, but it allowed him to walk over to Natalie without the phone. He laid the receiver facedown on the table as he attempted the question.

"Natalie," he whispered, approaching the kitchen island. "I have to ask you something. I really hope that you can do this, because I—"

"What is it? I assume that you got a hold of Sharona, I take it?"

He was astounded. She honestly must not have been listening in at all. _I like that aspect of her… a lot_, he decided.

"Yes. She thinks that her mother was murdered. I need to fly out there either tonight or tomorrow and was hoping that you could co—"

"Murdered? Wow, when you told me she died, I just thought stroke or heart attack or—"

"Well, apparently the doctors believe she had a heart attack, but she's one hundred percent sure that her mother was murdered. I don't know what to think. But, can you go with me?"

"Fly? Oh, Mr. Monk, I've been afraid of planes ever since Mitch went down in one. I don't want Julie to have _two_ parents dead in a plane crash."

"You? Scared of planes?" He couldn't believe his ears. This kind of a fear wasn't like Sharona's fear of elephants. It was a shared fear, and that made it even worse.

"Yes. Terrified. I can't go with you. I'm sorry."

* * *

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think oftheR&R processas a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	5. Persuasion and Reminiscence

**Author's Notes:**

Angelwriter2492 – Thank you for your nice review! I will get to your story soon, I promise, but for now I'll update this story and leave you guys some of my own feedback! Please continue telling me what you think!

Bob Wright – Thank you for reviewing, and pointing that out about Sharona. I'm glad you noticed that. Please continue your feedback!

Alyssa – Thanks for reviewing! Oh, it's going to be a very _very_ interesting development…. Let me just say, the plane trip will be nothing like the Monk plane episode in Season 1…. Keep letting me know what you think!

Bringirl2001 – Wow, thanks for the great feedback! Now that my 4 exams at the end of last week/beginning of this week are done, I can update more frequently. I guarantee interesting things will happen. Please continue to read & review!

Elizabeth – I'm so glad that you like my story. I hope you like the next chapter, because things will change after that, yet I think it'll still be good.

Kiera Kay – Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like it, and I'm going to update more frequently, at least for this week, because I don't have much to do.

Jesus Freak 87 – Yay! I'm glad you reviewed again! Please let me know what you think of this next chapter, because oooo things will change.

Gilded Lily – Hooray! A new reviewer! I'm so happy you like this story so far, and I am using some of your advice, and attempting to cut down any blatant romance things as of yet. Your feedback has affected this story, and I think it's better now because of it. You REALLY need to watch season 4 though, because Natalie is so kind and nice in it and I think you'd be able to approve of n/m after seeing her in action! I hope you continue to review!

To all the authors: I promise to review your stories, although it might be a few days. I have these little windows in my day where I take a little break and update. Sometimes I get to read a new story, but sometimes I have to rush out of the room. Just letting you guys know!

Well, on with the story! Don't worry, things will pick up after this a BIT.

**

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**

Natalie began to walk away from Adrian, but then he reached out and grabbed her _bare_ arm with his _bare_ hand. She gaped down at it openmouthed as he realized what he did and pulled away, immediately wiping his hand on his pants. He looked back up at her after ensuring the germs were gone.

"I'm afraid of planes too, Natalie. But I've flown in one. Did you know that? From here to New York: Manhattan, to be exact. We had a lead on my wife's killer. A dead lead—well… a _dying_ one."

"You, fly in a plane? I don't believe it."

"Lemme go get the plane ticket then—" He began to walk towards the study, where the ticket lay in the neat pile of Trudy murder files.

"Never mind. I _do_ believe you," she responded, causing him to halt. "You're a terrible liar, yet that sounded convincing so I'm assuming you're telling me the truth."

He walked back into the kitchen again, narrowing his eyes in the brighter lights.

"I _am_. I _did_ fly, Natalie. Please, you have to go."

"Well, even if I could go I can't afford the ticket."

"I'll pay for yours. You won't have to pay for anything."

She began to walk away, then suddenly stopped, realizing something. "Mr. Monk, _today_ is the anniversary of Mitch's death! And _I'm_ going to go flying in a plane the very day he died! I'm sorry, I just can't. For Julie's sake, _and_ for my sake."

"Would tomorrow be better for you?"

She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. "I don't know. Maybe it's just my fear that I'll be leaving Julie alone with no parents when I crash to my death."

"Don't say that," he responded, "or you'll scare _me_ into not going." He smiled a small crooked smile, and she smiled back as well.

"But will you go? Sharona's on the phone right now, waiting, and I need to te—"

"Why didn't you say that? I just wasted your long distance minutes! I'm so sorry!"

"You can make up for all those lost minutes by going with me. Come on, Natalie, _I've_ done it, so it can't be that bad," he replied coolly.

"What about Captain Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Disher? Won't they go with you?"

"Sharona wants me to leave as soon as I can. They probably have some—loose ends and cases to finish, and wouldn't be able to leave for a few days. Please, Natalie. I can't do this without you."

"Okay, Mr. Monk, I'll go."

He stared at her, dumbfounded by her fast reply.

_I can't make it look like I'm weak_, she mused, watching his astounded expression. _I want both him and Julie to think I can do anything. Hopefully my easy give-in will make up for my confession of complete fear. If I don't go, Julie will wonder why, and I don't want to have to explain to her why I didn't. She probably doesn't remember the significance of today anyway…._

"Today, or tomorrow?" he managed to say, still stunned at her agreement.

"Whatever's better for you or Sharona. I guess I'll just have to face my fear and try. Of course, the song "Ironic" is going to be stuck in my head the whole way and I'm going to be the one that needs comforted."

The thought of being in the exact same type of vehicle as Mitch had been in during his last throes of life still terrified her, and the gooseflesh stood all over her arms, even though it was warm inside. _This isn't going to be easy for me to do_, she thought. _But planes are supposedly a safe mode of transportation, they say. Safer than cars, even…._

"We can comfort each _other_; how about that?" Monk replied easily.

A smile from Natalie and Monk returned to the phone.

"I'm sorry I took so long. We'll try to get out of here today then, okay?" he said to her.

"_We?_"

"Well, I'm going to bring Natalie, of course," he stated matter-of-factly.

Sharona sat on the other end of the line, amazed. Was it possible that he had found love again? Another wife? In the ten months since she had last seen him? Her head was spinning at the possibility.

"_Natalie?_"

"Oh, I never got to tell you about her. She's my new assistant."

Her stomach turned slightly at the thought. At the words. She had been replaced.

"_Is she any good?_"

"She's great." He flashed a smile towards Natalie, who was standing in the kitchen with her arms folded looking out the window.

"_Oh. Well, okay. So you need _two_ tickets then?_"

"I'm going to pay for them. Don't worry about it. You have enough problems right now."

"_You don't know how much this means to me, Adrian. I only wish I could make it up to you._"

She then proceeded to tell him which airport in New Jersey he'd be flying into, and gave him phone numbers for the San Francisco International Airport and the various airplane companies at the airport.

After hanging up with Sharona, Adrian called the airport and booked a very expensive same-day flight that would first stop in New York, and then travel to New Jersey. For now it would be a one-way flight, because for one, two two-way tickets would push his wallet a little too far at the moment, and two, he had no idea when things would be cleared up in New Jersey. Natalie ensured that her parents could take care of Julie while she was away with a quick phone call to the Davenport residence, and plans were set.

He made a call to the captain's office afterwards, for Sharona didn't seem to care if they were there right away. After a couple of rings, the captain picked up the phone.

"Hello. Captain Stottlemeyer…. It's me, Adrian Monk—"

"_Hey, Monk,_" the captain replied good-naturedly. "_What's up?_"

Adrian laughed nervously.

"You're not going to believe this…."

He proceeded to tell the captain the entire story of the nurse's phone call to him, his phone call to Sharona, and her requesting his immediate presence in New Jersey.

"_Wow, I can't believe that all happened to her in one night,_" Stottlemeyer sighed.

"It did. Sharona said it all happened in—"

"_I didn't actually mean that I didn't believe it,_" the captain laughed, "_It just… Well, she's having you go out there, right?_"

"Yes, but I was wondering if you'd like—or want—to come to New Jersey as well. I can't issue any kind of formal investigation in another precinct, which you—"

Monk could hear the captain taking something out of the toothpick case on his desk.

"_There are a couple of things that the department's been working on lately,_" Stottlemeyer murmured quietly.

Monk leaned forward involuntarily in his chair at home, excited to hear the juicy details of the new case.

"_—Well, _one_ just happens to involve my office. They're gonna add some privacy glass to the far wall, and another filing cabinet. Karen gets mad at me for leaving the blinds in the same position all the time, so she just _had_ to say something_."

The detective leaned back in his chair, smiling at the captain's way with words. He really had him going there for a second with that one, but the captain had said _things_.

"_The second one—well, it's a new case. Breaking and entering, and possible robbery. The guy actually managed to avoid setting off the Smith Pharmaceuticals security system, and we still don't know how. He probably got less thana grand from their vault, so it doesn't make much sense why he'd go through all that trouble._"

"Oh," Adrian said, letting out a long-held breath. "Sounds interesting."

"_—We'll get the second one solved by Wednesday. However, that first one's gonna take a little tweaking, because the last time they tried to change something, they broke the coffee maker I had for years._"

"So, you may be able to go to New Jersey then?"

"_It'll probably be Wednesday at the earliest, Monk. I can't promise anything. If you need me for technical stuff just let me know and I'll push it through. Is that okay with you?_"

"Sounds good, Captain," Monk replied. He proceeded to tell the captain the specific airline that was offering flights to the New Jersey airport in Livingston, in case he could get away from his work sooner. For now, however, it would be Monk and Natalie heading to New Jersey.

Because the flight was only a couple of hours away, Monk had to pack quickly, and Natalie helped make his packing even quicker. After his six suitcases were full of clothes, socks, Sierra springs, chewing gum (for the landing), cleaner, and various other items, Natalie packed them into the Cherokee. Afterwards, they stopped over at the Teeger house so Natalie could pack her things. Julie was watching television when they came in. Apparently Ashley's mother had dropped her off earlier than originally planned.

"Hello, Julie," Natalie said casually as they entered. "You're back early. I'm glad you locked the front door." _I can't make a big deal out of this, _Natalie decided_. I have to play it cool, or else she's going to flip out._

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Mr. Monk. Ashley's mother brought me home because Ashley had a dentist appointment she had almost forgotten about. I just got back, but geez, you guys are out early."

Natalie didn't want to do any explaining; she'd just let Julie think she left home early in the morning. Thankfully, Julie continued to watch an episode of 'Saved by the Bell' as Natalie and Adrian proceeded upstairs. Even though she had directed her attention back to the television, Julie had never seen Adrian go upstairs, which only had her mother's and her bedrooms and a bathroom, and was more than a bit curious.

"What are you guys up to?" she managed to ask, after they had left her field of vision. Usually it was not her forte to ask too many questions, but this just _had_ to be cleared up. Mr. Monk was following her mother into the _personal_ part of the house.

Both stopped on the stairs guiltily and looked back towards where she was sitting.

"Oh, nothing, sweetie," Natalie replied. "I have to pack my bags to go on a little trip with Mr. Monk."

"Really? Am _I_ going?"

"No, honey. You're going to stay here with Grammie and Gramps, okay? I would have told you when I came in, but the flight is today and we have been rushing a bit." _Damn it. I didn't mean to say _flight_. At least, not for a few minutes._

"Flight? You're going to _fly_, Mom? You _hate_ flying."

"I don't _hate_ flying, Julie. I just _prefer_ to drive. Mr. Monk has a new case, but we have to get there soon before it's too late."

Natalie then realized that since Julie had been so young when Mitch had died, only about five years old, that she probably wouldn't be able to remember the precise day that it happened. Well, at least she _hoped_ that it was true. Julie didn't _look_ upset, though, so she assumed that it was.

"When will you be back?"

"Oh, I'm not sure yet." She stole a nervous glance at her boss. "Probably a couple of days."

"When were you gonna tell me? Geez…."

Natalie started back down the steps again, feeling guilty as she made her way over to her daughter.

"This all happened today, Julie. It's about Monk's old assistant, who just let us know of all this today."

"Why do you have to get involved then, Mom? It doesn't involve you," she said quietly. "I don't want to be home all day, while you're—on a plane—on the very day that Dad—"

"How did you remember that? You were only five."

Julie shook her head. "I'll never forget it."

Natalie bent down to hug her daughter. Tears hadn't threatened all night, and here they were again, brimming up over her eyes.

"Oh, Julie," she half-sobbed, hugging her daughter in a tight embrace as she sat down next to her. Julie began to cry softly as well, her head on her mother's shoulder, as they wept together on the couch.

Monk stood on the staircase, feeling extremely uncomfortable. In the next room, Natalie was crying—aloud, now—with her daughter, and he could do nothing to alleviate their pain. He'd only be lying if he said that things would get better. He began to descend the steps again, attempting to hold his breath for no real reason.

Natalie was amazed and saddened at the memories her daughter had retained of that day.

_I can't believe that she remembers the date that it happened_, Natalie thought, as she held her daughter close. _I wonder if she remembers anything about those next couple of days. That horrible, retched phone call seven years ago. The preparations, the sympathy cards and calls, picking out his tombstone, plot, casket, all the hypocrite visitors… The memories had continued to flow throughout, memories that convinced me he was still alive and well. It wasn't until I saw his body at the funeral home that his death finally sunk in: his face, his voice, his movements, only alive in my mind, I realized. His… body laying there so still and so cold in the casket. Undamaged, not a scratch on his body, yet he was dead. I remember being angry—angry that he would just leave us like that—and him, dead without a single mark on him. I took his wedding ring from his finger and put it on a chain around my neck from then on. For the next five years, in fact. _

_I left him a farewell letter on that lacy red heart-shaped paper I had bought for Valentine's Day years before, since I hadn't been able to give him a proper goodbye before he died. The grief counselor I'd had an emergency meeting with the day before said it was the right thing to do, and that Mitch'd read it from heaven. Julie gave him some pictures she had colored for him from school. A sweet little note saying she'd miss him. I lifted her up to the casket so she could touch him one last time, plant one last little kiss on his cheek. I don't think she understood what was happening at the time. Maybe it was wrong to keep her there during the showing, the funeral, the interment, but Mitch was a great father and deserved to have his family with him in his final hours before he was gone forever from sight and touch. If she had missed it all, I would be regretting things even more now._

_His forehead was so cold and stone-like when I kissed him—just an empty shell—and I talked to him after Julie was taken out of the room by my parents. I broke down completely. I knew that that was the last time I'd ever see him again and yet I didn't want to keep looking at his body, because he—his soul—was gone. _

_At the cemetery, his parents, Julie, and I sobbed and hugged. My parents were cold as ice as usual, colder than my dead husband's hands. They really let me down that day, yet seemed to convince Julie that there was nothing wrong, in their lack of emotion all day. I lost control again at his interment. I wanted to jump in the grave with him; life just didn't seem worth living anymore without him, taken so cruelly from me, so suddenly. I almost fainted when the folded flag was given to me from the top of his casket. I hated America at that moment, murdering my husband in a country I could care less about. I would have spit on that flag if it weren't for the eulogy given about Mitch from a military buddy earlier. All the pride he had in his country. In himself. In his family. The 21-gun salute scared me and sent chills all over my body. The hours blurred together. Julie was numb as the shots fired, deaf to the world. I held her on my lap. Oh God, the worst day of my life. _

"Mom, it's okay. I'm alright, Mom. Everything is going to be okay."

Julie's concerned voice snapped her out of her reverie. She had broken down completely just now. She was still clutching her daughter tightly, and Julie's hair was wet with her tears. Her daughter had been patting her back, and still was. Monk was standing above her, a sad look on his face as he stared at her.

She pulled away from the hug, most likely to Julie's relief than to her own. Monk backed away as she stood back up.

"I hope I didn't upset you too much, Julie," she stammered. "I just… thought too much for one day. I'm sorry too, Mr. Monk, for making you uncomfortable."

Adrian looked uncomfortable and twitched his shoulder, remaining silent, but Julie spoke up.

"It's okay, Mom. We needed to do that. To let Dad know we still miss him."

Natalie's eyes started watering again, and she actually grew angry at herself for allowing so much vulnerability to be shown.

"I love you, Julie. Your father would be so proud of you. You are a great kid."

"Thanks, Mom," she said, as Natalie ruffled her hair. "I love you too."

"Yeah," Adrian stammered uncomfortably. "You're a good kid."

"Thank you, Mr. Monk."

Natalie leaned down and kissed Julie's forehead, and then headed back up the stairs. Monk realized that it would be far more uncomfortable standing with Julie in the living room than helping Natalie pack. Maybe the sound of the—packing would keep them from saying a word. Yeah, silence was a good thing.

* * *

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	6. Just Plane Embarrassing

Author's Notes: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update! I hope you haven't forgotten me:)

Nomadff7 – I'm glad you're still interested in this, and you like how it is going. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update, but hopefully I'll get to start reading other fanfiction as well. Classes have been taking up my life lately. Please continue telling me what you think!

Elizabeth – you're going to be surprised how this turns out… It may wind in between the two, or may not even wind near either…..The chapter after this may give you more of an idea, so let me know what you think!

Bringirl2001 – I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, and thank you so very much for reviewing! I hope you continue to do so, because it's been so hard to begin writing again, what with classes and stupid little Spanish tests taking up my time.

Bob Wright – Thanks again for reviewing! This story is going to have a ton of little twists, some that I still haven't gotten written up yet, but I hope I find time soon!

Jesus Freak 87 – How are things going with the guy? By this point in my updating, it's probably already over, eh? Hopefully things in the story won't be sad for a while again…. Please continue telling me what you think!

Alyssa – This next chapter is going to open up a lot of doors, and I'm kinda scared as to see how people are going to react… Thanks for reviewing, and please continue to do so so that I don't completely derail!

Angelwriter2492 – Thanks for reviewing! Sharona will be back soon, don't worry! Please let me know what you think! There'll be all kinds of crazy stuff going on back in NJ, but only after they get there! ;)

Kiera Kay – Yay! I'm so glad you liked this chapter! The next chapters are a setup of sorts for some kinds of things, and I hope you continue telling me what you think, so I will stick with it or go away from it. Thanks again!

On with the story!

* * *

After ascending the stairs, Monk wouldn't enter Natalie's bedroom, for it was _far_ too personal for him to see, so the blonde wordlessly grabbed his arm and pulled him in, pointing upwards as he entered the room. 

"You're taller than me, so can you pull those suitcases down from on top of the closet?"

He glanced up at the hard-sided suitcases, at the dust atop them threatening to fall all over the room.

"The dust—" he muttered aloud, forgetting that his emotional assistant was standing beside him.

"You know what? Never mind. I'll get them. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get that chair behind you."

He glanced behind him at the weak-looking rocking chair.

"Y-you can't stand on that. It rocks!"

"I know it's an awesomechair, Mr. Monk, but it won't be hurt by my standing on it."

_Wow. She's even witty when she's depressed_, he mused. _I wish I could develop that skill. I could be a comedian. _

He moved out of the way as she dragged the chair squeakily to a place in front of the closet. Realizing how weakened the rocker already was, Adrian put his hands on each of the armrests, barring her from standing on it.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "I need to get to those suitcases, Mr. Monk."

"_I'll_ do it. I don't want you to fall."

"Trust me, I've done this before." A lie.

"I don't think so, because you would still have the x-ray films of your broken bones up on the walls to remind yourself of what happened the last time."

To his surprise, she started laughing. As she continued to crack up, he pushed the chair out of the way, closed his mouth, and grabbed a suitcase from the top of the closet. The dust settled upon his face and the floor and the bed and on Natalie as he shut his eyes to keep it from entering his entire being. He laid the first suitcase across the rocking chair and pulled down the second one quickly, before he could talk himself out of the ensuing shower of dust.

After both suitcases were dusted, the floor swept, and their clothes changed—all under Adrian's demand—packing began. It went quickly because Natalie insisted she could handle her own clothing. Monk had to admit that it was a relief because women's clothing was a no-no to look at, and especially to touch.

Once she was packed, they loaded the vehicle. Mother and daughter shared a long and tearful hug as the Davenports pulled up the driveway.

"Don't worry about anything, sweetie; I'll be home before you know it."

"Call right when you get there, please," Julie replied. Monk was amazed by how caring Julie had grown to be. Of course, flying was a touchy subject with the Teegers, which was understandable, but Julie was showing her true maturity about the situation in her actions and words, and the fact that she was letting her mother go on the plane.

The ride to the airport and the baggage check went surprisingly smoothly, although Monk had difficulty parting with his luggage, to let the suitcases ride on the filthy conveyor belt to lie in the gut of a plane with filthy luggage atop it, beside it, and under it. To make him feel better, Natalie bought some nice trash bags at the Air Mall and pulled them around each piece of his luggage, so as to prevent germs from touching the fabric of his suitcases. He smiled in appreciation as he watched them disappear on the conveyer belt at the baggage check, then the realization that she was using _garbage_ bags dawned on him. He attempted to complain, to convince her that they'd be thrown away, but she assured him that it wouldn't happen and that they'd be clean and ready for him in New Jersey.

Once arriving at the gate at the time of departure, the blonde assistant had problems entering the terminal to the plane. She'd reach the entrance, greet the stewardess, and then turn around and walk away, practically hyperventilating, as Monk realized that she wasn't beside him in the terminal.

After Natalie's three consecutive, identical responses to the terminal entry, Adrian walked back over to her, pity in his eyes.

"You look like I did, when I was getting ready to get on that plane to Manhattan. Please don't stop now; I'll never make this trip alone."

"It's not like you're driving. You'll go where they go, whether you like it or not." She crossed her thin arms, looking adamant.

"And so will you. And we will arrive safely." He thought about grabbing her arm but hesitated. "Please, I won't be able to hold out against you much longer. I'm not too keen on this either. It wouldn't take much to convince _me_ not to go."

She took a deep breath and looked at him. "Sharona really meant a lot to you, didn't she?"

Monk's shoulder twitched at the comment. "Well, maybe that and the fact that she's in a bind that only I can help her with. And I can only do that with you."

"With _me_? I'm no help. I'm just some former bartender, blackjack dealer, minimum-wage job kinda girl who just happened to seek _you_ out."

"—I hired you; you didn't even need a job at the time. And yes, you are a _big_ help. You've helped me get—"

"Mr. Monk? Ms. Teeger?" the stewardess interrupted Adrian's monologue. "If you don't get on the plane soon I'm afraid it'll have to take off without you."

"—But my bag's on the plane!" Adrian cried.

"Yes, and it will travel across the country without you."

A pleading look from Monk in the most puppy-dog form he could muster, and Natalie was following him into the terminal onto the airplane, where they took their seats near the window in coach, with Adrian by the window.

As Adrian buckled his seatbelt, Natalie placed the carry-on bags as well as her purse in the overhead compartment, nervous as hell. She looked down at him shortly after shoving the first bag in and he could see the fear in her eyes, plain as day. It scared him to see such fear from such a strong person. The airport had made her cold, or maybe it was the fear, so she slipped on a brown leather jacket from her carry-on bag as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Mr. Monk, I can't do this, I just can't."

He patted the seat, attempting to play down what she meant.

"That's alright. You can leave your bag by my feet, if you want."

She flashed him a dangerous glance from her standing position.

"You _know_ that's not what I meant."

"Just sit down for a second, Natalie. Things will be better soon."

"Do you think I should call Julie before we take off? I—I don't know if I gave her a proper good—"

Adrian squirmed in his seat, amazed at Natalie's obvious horror.

"You know, when Sharona flew with me, it was _she_ that comforted _me_!"

_Oops. Wrong thing to say_. Natalie grabbed her purse from the overhead compartment, placed the strap over her shoulder and took a step towards the front of the plane, disturbing a man who had dozed off in a nearby seat.

"Guess you'll have to find some other passenger to comfort you, then," she replied coldly, as she shoved her way past him. "I'll pay you back for your ticket when you get back. Don't forget to pick up my bags at the luggage claim or you can forget about getting your money back."

"Natalie," he moaned, attempting to make his way out of the seat. "Please don't leave—I didn't mean anything by it—"

She ignored his words, continuing to walk through the curtain that separated the coach passengers from first class.

After fumbling with his seatbelt, Adrian scrambled down the aisle for dear life, reaching Natalie just after she disappeared behind the curtain and grasped—her hand—with his own bare one. He noticed immediately that she had left her purse behind, for it was no longer with her, and that she really had let her nails grow out long, for they were digging in to his hand at the moment—yet he stubbornly held on. She attempted to pull away from him as she began walking again, Adrian still holding her hand as she continued her attempts to shake his hand away, ignoring the fact that he was stuck underneath the curtain and it was messing up his hair.

He summoned up the remaining strength he had in his body and held fast to her hand as he remained hidden beneath the billowed-out curtain.

"Natalie! I'm sorry!" he cried, watching the legs of her blue jeans warily from beneath the curtain. "Is there any way I--Look, I'm holding your bare hand, for God's sake! Doesn't that _mean_ anything to you?"

The passengers nearby laughed quietly, not sure what to make of the comment about the bare hand. He was immediately embarrassed, and felt himself blush a bright crimson as someone tapped on his shoulder. _What _was_ it with all the human contact today? _Another_ angry flight attendant?_

"Mistah, please let go of mah hand!" the woman in front of him yelled in a southern accent in a voice quite different from Natalie's. He released his grip immediately, dropping his hand guiltily at his side as she turned around to face him; it had not been Natalie's hand he had held, but a young blonde woman's.

His skin blanched white and throat went cottony dry. He had just held some stranger's—some young, scared woman, no less—a young female stranger's hand, and actually held it, palm to strange, unknown palm, viruses, bacteria, mites taking a leap from her skin's contact points with his bare skin. Now he was truly humiliated and horrified. The whole first class was laughing at him, pointing at him, jeering at him. Talking about him to each other in excited, derisive whispers. Even the woman was now laughing, her long fingernails orange like the fires of hell as she covered her mouth to stifle the laughter, the edges of her contemptuous smile belittling his very being, his very soul. In his complete mortification, he turned to see who had tapped his shoulder, a person who had not laughed with the others. Natalie.

He turned away and moved laterally across the row to escape, not able to look his assistant in the eye. As the passengers in first class continued their laughter, Natalie followed him between the seats as he reentered the coach side through the other curtain.

"What the hell are _you_ all laughing at?" she snarled, silencing the snickering group immediately with her tone of voice. "All you'll _ever_ have over him are your stupid first class seats, so sit there and shut the hell up."

Adrian had overheard her retort to their laughter, and smiled broadly in her direction, astounded to know that she cared enough for him to go against the majority to defend him. _She put herself on the line— for me... telling all those rich and powerful people off, to defend _my_ honor. She truly is amazing. I honestly don't deserve her._

* * *

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others readour stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	7. A Helping Hand

Bringirl2001 – I'm so happy that you're still following the story! Hopefully these new few chapters will flow smoothly and will be posted quickly. Please continue telling me what you think! I'm so glad you like it!

Captaincrisef - Hooray! A new reviewer! Thanks for your nice comments! I hope you continue to let me know your opinions on this!

Nomadff7 – Yay! Thanks for the very kind feedback! I hope you like what happens next, because it's rather interesting and mysterious all at the same time. I hope you continue to follow the story, because I've been keeping your reviews in mind. – Hooray! A new reviewer! Thanks for your nice comments! I hope you continue to let me know your opinions on this!

Alyssa – Thanks for the review! I'm glad you think that Natalie is in character! I'm trying so hard not to let them overstep those character boundaries, because then everything would fall apart. Please keep me posted on what you think!

And now, for the story!

* * *

Soon, Adrian and Natalie were back in their seats and buckled up for the flight. A short announcement and safety session involving seatbelts, inflatable life vests, and emergency exits, and Natalie lost the confidence she had regained in telling off countless millionaires and potential celebrities.

Adrian was still trying to find a way to apologize to her about his earlier comment, yet found it extremely difficult to wait until the end of the announcements, fidgeting nervously in his seat the entire time.

Once the announcements were over, he turned to the nervous blonde and began to speak quietly.

"Natalie, I'm sorry about what I—"

She shook her head, half smiling. _What does _that_ mean?_ He didn't have long to wait for an answer.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Monk. I can honestly say that I'm not afraid of most things, but ever since Mitch died, I am scared to fly… for Julie's sake. That's all. I should have considered how much flying bothered you too."

"You more than made up for any apology you could even consider making, Natalie. Back there, that was just…" He beamed at her, nodding his head slightly. "—that was… well—amazing of you. Thank you."

As he finished speaking, the captain's announcement came on, and he watched Natalie closely for her response to the takeoff news.

_"Attention passengers. The plane is about to depart the airport and runway. Please fasten your seatbelts and keep your tray tables in an upright, locked position. Thank you."_

His assistant's fingers dug into the armrests in white-knuckled terror as she stared up at the blinking seatbelt sign above their seats, shoulders tense and stiff, teeth clenched in a set jaw, and body hair on end. She was petrified, and didn't hide it.

As if by instinct, some inner force that his obsessive compulsive disorder had not yet reached, Adrian reached over and held Natalie's hand in his own, enclosing her cold clamminess in the warmth of his own.

He watched her reaction with his peripheral vision; the results were immediate. Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and her mouth opened slightly, revealing the reddish tint of blood in her lower lip that she had bitten in fear.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye in his direction, keeping her eyes lowered as she watched his arm, watched his hand covering her own, stroking the side of her hand lightly with his thumb.

_Is it possible that I have feelings for him?_ she asked herself as she observed the tender display, afraid that her eyes would give away her secret. _I'm feeling something at this moment that I haven't felt since… well, Mitch._ _Which feeling _is_ it though? My relationship with Mitch involved lots of them, and not all of them dealt with love. But—I—I can't be acknowledging these thoughts on the _anniversary_ of my husband's death. It's gotta be nothing…. I'm just grieving, and my mind is all screwed up because of it. That's what it is—grieving. _

Adrian couldn't help but turn his head a bit to watch Natalie. It appeared that—that she was thinking—deeply. Was it positive thinking? Or was she trying to think of the words to tell him to stop? He glanced down at his own hand, at the gentle strokes of his thumb over her smooth, cold skin. _How can I be doing this? I don't ever do this—touch, even—without wanting to wash my hand— oddly enough, I don't feel that way right now— and also because she's grieving and I'm being too—too—forward, is it? But how can I _think_ I'm being forward unless I'm actually being forward? Oh, God, I think I'm hitting on her… _Her hand was relaxed in his gentle hold, and he became aware of her thankfully shortly clipped fingernails. _No, I'm comforting her... _He liked her short fingernails, and her smooth skin, and the touch of her hand upon his back, and her contagious smile. _Maybe it's both…. _

mmmmmmmmmmm

Sharona lay in her bedroom at home, hearing the key slip into the front door as quietly as was possible. _It's Trevor, trying to sneak in _again, she concluded angrily, upset that there was nothing she could do to beat him into the house, for her neck was in a brace, her arm was in a cast, and she was chock full of painkillers.

The door carefully opened as a confused Trevor glanced around the opening.

"Sharona? Where are you?" he asked in a weak voice, stepping into the kitchen. "And what's going on outside?"

_Wow. So he actually _noticed_ that the Cavalier isn't there. He probably noticed the Taurus in its place. At least Pam was nice enough to pick me up a rental; probably still feels bad about being the bearer of bad news. _

"In here," she grumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

When he stepped into the darkened bedroom the scene shocked him. Sharona lie in bed with a neck brace and her arm in a cast. There was also some bruising across her nose and on her exposed arm. The rest of her body was hidden under the covers.

"What happened? Oh my God, Sharona, did someone attack you?"

"Maybe if you had actually stayed home last night, none of this would have happened," she retorted, her voice a threatening hiss in the darkness.

"Sharona—I'm sor—"

"Save your breath, Trevor; I could be _dying_ and you wouldn't change your ways."

"Who was it, Sharona? Who did this to you?"

"What the hell are ya talkin' about? I was in a car accident, didn't you hear?" She paused in mock thought. "Oh _wait_, you were too busy hittin' it off with some young broad at the Wild Horse Pub, am I right?"

He looked down at his feet, beginning a reply.

"No, but I'm sorry that I w—"

"Sorry my _ass_! That's _always_ your story, isn't it? You can do all the partying you want now, because I'm laid up and can't go lookin' for ya."

"Sharona—I'd never do—"

She interrupted his empty words, his pitiful expression.

"My mother was murdered last night, Trevor."

He was taken aback. "Sharona, what are you talking about? Your mother's at the hospital; she was suppo—"

"I was there with her. Then I got in a car accident. Someone killed her."

She glared up at him, looking for some sign of guilt. But her husband was good at this game. He could have been cheating on her with five different girls the night before, yet he'd never show it. Oh, she'd tried the pulse method lie detection—never a change in his pulse. She'd hold onto his wrist surreptitiously so that there'd be no chance he'd even suspect it. She'd even caught herself watching for the 'itchy nose' syndrome characteristic of a lie—he never scratched it.

Trevor gaped at her in shock and pity, crossing over to the side of the bed. She held her good hand up.

"Don't try to comfort me, because you're twelve hours too late."

She suspected him, she _actually_ suspected her own husband of the murder of her mother. There was something about his eyes: maybe it was that he was blinking too often, or that his pupils were the size of dinner plates. The room was dark, though, so maybe the latter could be ruled out. Trevor seemed… unnerved by this information, by the uneasy wringing of his hands and the fact that he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. _Is he actually concerned about what's happened to my mother and me,_ Sharona considered,_ or is it something else altogether? _

* * *

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy


	8. When Past Meets Present

Author's Notes:

Jesus Freak 87 – I'm glad you liked this chapter! One more chapter with just Adrian/Natalie, then to the trio!

Illyria639 – Yay! A new reviewer! I'm very happy that you reviewed my story! I'm glad you like what's going on between Adrian and Natalie, because I'm going to be keeping a tension in the air between Adrian and the two most important living women in his life.

Bringirl2001 – Wow! What nice things to say! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I had to set aside a special time to respond to all the new reviews, but I had the chapter already written! Don't worry about Disher and the Captain; they'll play a major part starting in… two chapters or so….

Nomadff7 – Thank you for reviewing! I'm sorry it took me so long to update!

Kura – Yay! I'm so happy to have a new reviewer! I'm glad I met your expectations, and I hope I continue to do so, or surpass them! ;)

Angelwriter2492 – Thanks so much for reviewing! Sharona will come in for real with Adrian after this chapter here!

Alyssa – Thank you for reviewing! This case will have a lot of tension, and of course certain characters will be too close to the case to even have much input in solving it….

Kiera Kay – I'm so glad that you reviewed again! There's one more chapter with solely Adrian/Natalie, then there'll be a whole new tension in the air when Sharona enters in chapter 9.

Smackalicious x 5 – Wow! Thanks for reviewing all those chapters! I'm glad you like the story and I was so excited to receive such an influx of reviews in one setting! I hope you continue to review! Sharona will be coming in in the next chapter (not this one, but the next).

Bob Wright – Yes, there will be a nice showdown in the next chapter, at least between the two assistants…. I'm very happy that you reviewed! Please continue to tell me what you think.

On with the story! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated! I'm going to try not to take that long again!

* * *

As the plane took off into the sky, Adrian's hand remained around Natalie's, even though he could feel his palms begin to sweat and her hand becoming sweaty as well. He averted his eyes, in his discomfort in thinking that he was taking advantage of her, and she averted hers in the discomfort that her eyes might reveal something to Adrian that she had not yet admitted to herself.

After thirty-two minutes and twenty-seven seconds, Adrian noted silently, Natalie gently withdrew her hand from the warmth of her employer's hand. Her palms—both of them—were now sweaty, most likely from the nervousness she was feeling at Adrian's touch. _I'm just not accustomed to it_, she attempted to convince herself. _He's not one for hand-holding, and I was shocked because he did it, and I sweated. _She had to look at her boss soon, or he'd get the wrong idea as to why she had pulled away. _Why _did_ I pull away, anyway?_ _I liked holding his hand; it made me feel oddly giddy, like a teenager on her first date. But how can he incite these feelings in me with his mere touch? Does he do this to everyone, or just me? Maybe that's why he's not fond of touching, because of the response it gets._

_I _knew_ that she didn't like it, _Adrian mused, feeling the sweat begin to evaporate from his skin. _Her hand started sweating and her face became flushed; I thought she was going to have a heart attack from the tension. I probably made the take-off all the more worse for her. She probably won't go back to San Francisco on the plane with me. _

It was then that she looked at him. It was a shy glance, a schoolgirl's furtive glimpse at a boy that catches her fancy. A small closemouthed smile crossed her features as she locked eyes with his briefly. He looked back at her, dark brown locked on light blue, and his features softened into a satisfied smile.

_Natalie has helped me through so many of my fears_, he mused, watching her direct her gaze elsewhere. _She doesn't chastise me for having them, but lets me overcome them with a little encouragement, and those back rubs... It wasn't long ago that I had really thought I had gotten better, and I know it was all her doing. _He let out a breath he had been holding in the form of a sigh. _I just wish I could do more for her, but I've never been a very good supportive person to have around._

"Mr. Monk?" he heard her ask, and turned his head to face her, eyes guiltily wide.

"Yes?" he responded, his voice a lower pitch than usual, _smoother_, in a way. Oh God, his voice was responding in a way that his body had not instructed.

"I'm sorry that I—well, you know," she stuttered, lifting her hand a couple of inches off the armrest. "I—well, I didn't—I wasn't sure that—"

_This is coming out all wrong_, her mind raced. _There's too much time for him to think, too much assumption, in those awkward pauses between my cutoff, garbled words. What am I doing? Am I leading him on?_ She looked over at him, at his curious, wide-eyed expression of interest. _Why would I _think_ that I'm leading him on unless I'm really leading him on? Why have I become so bashful and backward? What kind of a spell did he put on me, anyway?_ Panicking, she quickly reminisced about Mitch and the memory of their honeymoon, and the maturity and experience of her adult life resurfaced.

"Mr. Monk, let me restate that," she said, smiling confidently. "I don't know why I was mumbling a second ago, but I'm probably—well, I'm probably still a bit scared. It's just—I didn't pull away for any other reason other than thinking that maybe it was beginning to bother you."

Adrian hadn't been bothered, though, and had to make that clear. To the shock of his own system, he found himself wishing that he could have retained that contact with her for the remainder of the trip. Where _was_ he going again?

"Well—" he began to state, as he involuntarily rubbed his hand off on his pants, "—it didn't bother me. I just thought—I was just—well, trying to be comfort—"

He soon realized that he was contradicting his own words and so attempted to hide the fact that he had just been wiping off his hands by reaching into his pants pocket as if looking for something.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Monk. Want me to get up?" She began to unbuckle her seat belt, much to his dismay.

"Wh—what for?" he asked, hurt. "You c-can't leave—even if you wanted to, Natalie."

"It's so you can wash your hands, silly," she responded as she sat back down, laughing amusedly as she lightly patted his hand with her own. The result was like electricity to him, yet not in the static sense. Now, he had to admit, at earlier times her touch had sent chills down his spine and a twitch of his shoulders, but this one, this one had more spark to it.

Without even thinking, he turned his hand over and held hers once again as it was patting his hand, palm to dried palm, allowing his fingers to entwine between hers. He let out a long sigh as he did so, unable to express any form of language to justify his action, but he did not release the hold.

To his surprise, she held on as well, leaning forward slightly so that she could look into his eyes, considering how his were now cleverly affixed to the vomit bag on the back of the seat in front of him.

She caught his gaze once more and smiled.

"You're full of surprises, Mr. Monk." She lifted the pair of intertwined hands slightly off the armrest. "You don't realize how much this comforts me. I can honestly say I feel a lot better already, and if we continue to do—well, this—for the remainder of the flight, I'd be fine with it—happy, in fact."

He melted inside, although he tried his best to retain control of himself. Natalie's face was so close to his that Adrian was able to feel her breath on his skin, and hear her rapid heartbeat—no, wait—it was his _own_, thudding in his ears with each increasing millisecond of eye contact. _This kind of thing isn't possible, is it? Natalie is by no means like Trudy was, but—she still—she makes me feel these—feelings—it's just not possible. As impossible as the idea of a big metal jet flying miles above the earth. _He glanced briefly out the window, seeing the ant-sized cars below on the thin gray ribbon of road.

_Did I just say that? _Natalie asked herself as she tried to read Adrian's face._ Oh, God, I actually did,_ her mind answered._ Did I mean it? Yes, I did._ _I meant every word of it—there's something so—so irresistible about him, something that is causing me to revert to saying everything I'm feeling out loud, no matter _what_ it happens to be. _Natalie suddenly felt a wave of shyness and straightened back up, keeping her eyes aimed ahead.

The silence was deafening as Monk and Natalie both faced forward again, forcing their eyes from wandering to the other person. It was too much to bear.

"Natalie," Adrian murmured, breaking the awkward silence with a soft yet husky whisper, "Please, call me Adrian."

The blonde looked over at the dark-haired man to her left, the one whose hand that she found perfectly entwined with hers. The one who had just issued a change in their employer/employee relationship in his simple, yet strangely exotic request to be called by his first name. She had continued the 'Mr. Monk' greeting as a sign of respect for Adrian, and now the relationship had, with the simple touch of a hand, gone beyond that.

"Thank you, M—Adrian. I'll do that." She smiled at him, giving his hand a little squeeze. The shy detective turned to face her at the comment, but couldn't bring his eyes to look into hers. _Thank God he's still so backwards_, she mused. _If he was anything like the other guys I've dated, I'm sure we'd be kissing right now, and I don't know if I can handle that yet_. Wait, what was she saying? She was seriously considering _kissing_ Adrian Monk!

A much-welcome announcement came over the loudspeaker as the stewardess who was making it was seen standing near the curtain hiding the sound equipment.

"Hello, passengers. We will now be watching an in-flight movie, 'When Harry Met Sally.' Before you say anything—don't worry, parents, it has been cut to a PG rating, so there's some—scenes cut out so your children are safe watching it. Please, if anyone has any other requests or complaints regarding the in-flight movie, please let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Thank you."

Adrian glanced over at Natalie as she sucked in a breath, remembering that he'd seen the movie with Trudy; it had been her personal favorite, with the main concept that always scared the crap out of him: friends becoming lovers. The concept that men and women can't just be friends, because one always wants more. _Oh God, is this some kind of sign? _he mused._ If not, what is it? Is it supposed to remind me of Trudy and keep me away from Natalie, or is it trying to tell me something else?_

The little squeeze from Natalie reminded him of the good days—of the hand-holding in the park that he and Trudy used to share. Those days when the _streetlamps_ were what he feared most, the thought of letting go for those few seconds to walk past the lamp and reunite.

He was feeling it again. Those primitive feelings that his OCD normally wouldn't let him touch. The need for human contact. The need to express love in every possible way. An insatiable connection. He had only felt that way with Trudy, and now it was resurfacing. _How can this be happening to me?_ Butterflies fluttered about inside his stomach and chills ran up and down his spine as his mind reeled._ I always thought that the happy and normal period in my life, my marriage to Trudy, was gone for good. I thought I'd never have those feelings again, and I accepted it. But now—I don't know what to do. She's—she's bringing them back…._

He tried to clear his thoughts by concentrating on the stewardess who made the announcement. He watched the raven-haired, slender 30ish woman walk away from the loudspeaker and down the aisles of coach, leaning over with a big fake smile on her face to hear the opinions of adults who had children present. _Natalie's not fake_, he noted. _She says what she feels_. He had inadvertently let his assistant enter his mind again. After no complaints were heard from the passengers on the movie choice, the lights were slightly dimmed and the movie appeared on the screens.

Natalie was amazed to hear that her favorite movie was going to be playing. Of course, a lot of the really funny stuff, like the restaurant orgasm scene, would be removed, but the heart of the movie would stay. It had been years since she had seen the movie. Mitch had always disagreed with the ideas the movie presented, but that had only further strengthened her opinion of him. A man that was keen on the idea of friends becoming lovers was one that might make it happen, and that was not something she wanted her husband experimenting with. Even so, the chemistry between Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan was truly believable and made for the some of the greatest comedic scenes she could ever remember seeing on film.

"Have you ever seen this movie, Adrian?" she asked, turning to hear his response as the titles rolled and big band music played.

The sudden question startled him from his unblinking stare at the small screen mounted from the ceiling a few seats ahead.

"Uhm, what?" he said, turning sheepishly to her. He had been trying to get his mind off of what he was feeling, of the impulses he had to withhold, by letting his mind get lost in the names of the actors and actresses of the movie.

"The movie," she said, indicating the position of the screen. "When Harry Met Sally."

"Yes, I've seen it," he replied. "It was Trudy's favorite movie."

"You're kidding me."

"Uhm, no, it really is her fa—"

"Well, it's _my_ favorite movie of all time too! Oh, Adrian, I absolutely _adore_ this movie."

She was smiling like a giddy child, and her eyes seemed to glitter—ehh, it must have been the reflection from the television screen. Even though any traces of fear had since left his assistant, Adrian found himself still holding her hand as tightly as before. He had to get his mind off things, namely this strange feeling regarding Natalie, and so glanced back out the window at the tiny city below him. _Natalie loves the same movie as Trudy did... The _exact_ same movie that Trudy—my Trudy— used to love, when she was alive…. But Trudy's not with me now, Natalie is, and she's holding my hand and touching me and—_

All of a sudden, a panic attack swept over him, and it suddenly became very hard to breathe. Sweat poured off his forehead and all other background disturbances faded from sight as reality hit him—he was several miles above the earth in a heavy enclosed metal box and the oxygen that he was breathing was being recirculated. All the air being breathed out by the other passengers was entering his mouth and his nose, open tunnels into his system, and the diseases they had were beginning to multiply in his mouth, his throat, his stomach. He felt the bile rising in his throat, teeming with billions of germs, and involuntarily swallowed hard.

Natalie noticed the sudden change in Adrian, for his hand was now as wet as if it had been soaked in water, drops of sweat ran in torrents down the sides of his face, and he was squirming against the restrictive seat belt, pushing his sweat-covered shoulder against her as he attempted to get as far away from the window as possible.

"Mr. M–Adrian!" she corrected herself. He didn't respond, instead attempting to pull the plastic window shade down with a sleeved hand, and it seemed as if she could feel his heartbeat through his hand.

"Adrian," she said again. She turned to face him, using her right hand to pull his left shoulder towards her so he would be looking away from the window and at her instead.

Upon turning him, he released the handhold, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Natalie…. It's—we're—we're so _high_ up here, _too_ high. I should never have made you come along if you didn't want to. You were right about everything. I should never have agreed to do this—" he said with a sigh. "Please don't h—I'm so sorry that I forced you to come up here—"

"Listen, Adrian," she said, her face only inches away from his own, as she caressed his shoulder supportively. His eyes were still darting around the plane suspiciously, avoiding her direct gaze. "You're having a panic attack…. But don't worry, it's probably just because you've made so much of an improvement in such a short amount of time, and now you're feeling the recoil. You've done so much unexpected stuff today, and your body's just not used to it."

"Natalie," he responded huskily, _longingly_. _Oh, God_. His own voice was betraying him; things could only get worse now that he was beginning to lose control. However, the problem was no longer the incredible altitude; it was this—this _thing_ that Natalie was doing to him with every compliment, every touch, every smile.

His eyes finally stopped darting around nervously at the sound of his own vocal approval, finding their spot right across from hers. Looking right into her eyes. Less than six inches away. As she caressed his shoulder. As her worried expression changed to one of absolute relief and happiness. As her lips parted slightly to show a line of white teeth in a relieved smile. After she added a compliment to a commiserating explanation of what he had been going through. One of many ways she showed him that she cared. And God, did he care back.

As the movie played the scene where Harry left Sally for the first time in New York, Adrian Monk found himself _approaching _Natalie for the first time.

Natalie saw what he was trying to do, yet she did not put up her hands in protest, and no visible backwards motion occurred on either individual's part. He was leaning towards her at a snail's pace with mouth set emotionlessly, staring straight into her eyes as they widened with each decreasing inch between the two of them. Suddenly, he stopped moving towards her, shutting his eyes tightly to think.

_I can't do this_, he deduced. _She probably doesn't feel the same way I do._ _I need her so much, and if I try this and she doesn't feel the same way, she'll leave. I want her to stay with me, even if it means I'll never get to kiss h— Wait, how can I say that? I—I—_don't_—kiss…. I don't touch either. Am I drunk again? I don't even remember what I might have said to her the day that I was, or what I did, but I _do_ remember leaving a broken bottle in the barrel storage room, and something about her blouse. I hope they cleaned that glass up, because someone's going to get their foot cut open and—_

As his thoughts jumped to different random subjects to keep his mind off of the task at hand, a pair of soft lips gently brushed against his own, and his eyes shot wide open at the sensation, not able to register his surroundings yet. _Oh my God, did we actually _kiss_? Did I keep moving after I had shut my eyes? Or am I just imagining this? Maybe I fell asleep. Yeah, I fell aslee—_suddenly the plane around him came into focus. Natalie was now less than three inches away, and her eyelids looked heavier than they had before, as she examined his face. Her face was flushed and he could feel her warm moist breath on his skin emanating the smell of the watermelon chewing gum she had popped in for the takeoff. A small satisfied smile crossed her lips. Satisfied? Oh, he couldn't leave it at that.

The second kiss was much better. Adrian initiated it; he moved to her and watched her close her eyes as he pressed his lips against her own and closed his own eyes. The kiss was chaste, innocent, gentle, not at all overbearing or hungry or even open-mouthed. Things had to be perfect, for this was their first time at something so… intimate.

A couple of seconds later, it was over. The movie had since faded away from both minds for the time being, and Natalie slowly leaned back into her seat, feeling new heat radiating through her but attempting to ignore it. _Not here, not today_, she mused. _Gosh, he is a surprisingly sweet kisser, such a good kind man. But then again, if this is all a mistake, I'm going to be stuck in New Jersey with not enough money to come back._ She looked down at their intertwined fingers. _Ehh, he'd never leave me there, even if this didn't work out, but still... I feel so vulnerable that it's actually scaring me._

Adrian felt a wisp of air on his face as the kiss was broken, signifying that Natalie was moving away from him. _Thank God she moved away first_, he thought, _because I was planning on doing that as well, to prevent any awkward—afterthoughts. Trudy and I, it took us… twelve dates before we kissed. I have to admit, the first—five— kisses were pretty awkward._ _But th—this one, Natalie—the second one—wasn't awkward at all. I mean I—I don't even want to wipe my mouth off…. _He looked over at Natalie, who was giving him a little shy smile. A warm feeling rushed through his body, creating a serenity and comfort he hadn't felt in years. Making him so comfortable that he faded off into sleep, holding Natalie's hand lightly as the glow of the movie shone across his peaceful features.

* * *

Please, before you think this is going to be some kind of mushy A/N romance story from now on, stop. A lot of angst is coming in the next chapter, with the arrival of Sharona, of course.

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy


	9. A Terminal Start

Illyria639 – Thanks for reviewing! There will be mush later on most likely, so keep a lookout! I hope you continue to review!

Kiera Kay – I'm glad you loved chapter 8! I hope the chapters continue to gladden you!

Bringirl2001 – Yay! Thank you for reviewing! The suspense will keep building, and I hope you keep reviewing!

Angelwriter2492 – Thanks for the nice comments! Please continue to let me know what you think!

Alyssa – 2 reviews for one chapter! Wow, thank you! Feel free to do that anytime! ;)

Bob Wright – I'm glad you like the setup so far. I have been reading your story, and now that I'm going to be on Thanksgiving break next week, I'm going to get on reviewing more of your story. I just haven't been able to do much other than study this week and fill out Graduate school applications….

Creeper – WOW! A new reviewer! I'm so happy you reviewed my story! I was so happy to read your wonderful review! Please continue to do that kind of thing. It actually was the final boost to help me finish this chapter.

On with the story….

* * *

Adrian awoke to the sound of the crackling of the announcements which had just finished up, and was surprised to find that he was still holding Natalie's hand through the hours that must have passed.

"Natalie, how long was I out?" he asked the blonde, still half groggy.

"Ehh, probably about four hours," she replied, glancing at her wristwatch. "You slept like a baby."

"_That_ long?" That was an unexpectedly long time. "D—did you sleep at all?"

"After I watched the rest of the movie, I may have slept on and off for about an hour."

"Are we there yet?"

Natalie couldn't help but smile. Julie was famous for that line, and said it whenever a trip was planned that lasted longer than an hour.

"Actually, the announcements that were just on said we will be landing shortly. I think, though, that this landing is for New York."

The plane landed shortly afterward at the New York airport, and three-fourths of the passengers on board exited the plane. Less than a dozen new passengers boarded the plane at the airport, leaving Monk and Natalie on the plane as it sat at the airport awaiting the stragglers.

Even though the plane had since landed, neither let go of each other's hand. The significance of the handhold had surpassed the original concept of comforting the other, for they were now on the ground and were quite safe. Both had kept pretty silent until the landing was over, and sat side by side in the silent aircraft.

Adrian's insecurities about Natalie formulating a negative opinion of him, although unfounded, had since grown from the time of his awakening. He had dreamt when asleep, yet the subject of the dream had faded from memory when he woke up. It had been a happy dream, yet he did not think that Trudy was in it. He glanced down at the handhold periodically to convince himself that the whole _trip_ hadn't been a dream.

"Mist—Adrian," the assistant murmured, looking over at Adrian, who had been in a world of his own. Monk couldn't help but smile at hearing the woman saying his name, the name he had instructed her to call him. A more intimate name.

"Yes—Natalie?" he replied.

She couldn't reply, instead smiling at their hands. Adrian took the silent moment to clear up his feelings of doubt.

"Natalie, are you going to leave me now?" he said carefully, fearfully.

The blonde gaped up at him, surprised at the comment.

"Wh-what do you mean? I don't even _know _New Yor—"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he replied, smiling slightly. However, his expression quickly turned serious. "I mean, do you—uhm—do you—well, think _less_ of me now? I just—I couldn't—well, I shou—"

"Why would I think less of you? I think _more_ of you now, Adrian; I really do. This has been the best trip I've taken in _years_, and it could have easily been the worst if it wasn't for you being here."

She reached over with her right hand and patted his hand that was on the nearest armrest, leaving it atop his own. _Oh, God._ His hand was sandwiched in _between_ her two hands now. Her skin enclosing his on all sides. _Germs_. No, he couldn't let that word infiltrate his thoughts. _Germs. _Again the word echoed. _Oh, how did I get it of my head when I was with Trudy? Wait—when I was with Trudy, these— obsessions—weren't as strong as they are now. I didn't feel this way when I kissed Natalie, even, so why am I feeling it now? …. It's useless; I can never be normal again, try as I might. Never._ He shook his head disappointedly, using all his brainpower to keep his hand from moving, from jerking away in its usual fashion when being surrounded, _violated_ in such a way.

"What? It's true, Adrian! Why don't you believe me?"

He shot a glance at her to see that she was misinterpreting his head shake.

"No, Natalie—it's not that—I wasn't shaking my head because of that—"

"Then why? You look… troubled, or something."

_She can _really_ read me, which is more of a curse than a blessing at the moment._ He was a terrible liar, even _she_ knew that, so no random excuse was going to sound honest. Except the excuse that would make her understand, yet move her hands away. _Why does life have to be so hard for me?_

"It's—my mind—sometimes I hate it. That's all." He shifted uncomfortably, stealing a quick glance out the now un-shaded window at the ground less than twenty feet below.

Natalie was immediately confused by his comment, which was something he had hoped wouldn't happen, because that always meant more pointed questions. Sure enough, she asked another question.

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

He sighed. It was difficult to explain the inner workings of himself—well, he had only done it with Trudy before, when things were much simpler in his brain. It was as if—the OCD—had taken portions of his brain and knotted them up, or inserted random repetitive information that always whispered inside of him, warning him of irrational dangers, causing him to fear things that no one else seemed to worry about or even notice.

He'd try again one more time to end talk of the subject, but then he'd be forced to spill his guts.

He threw his free hand up in despair. "It's—too complicated to explain, so let's just leave it at that. You'll thank me later."

"Adrian," she said, leaning towards him warmly. "I _want_ to know about you, about what makes you tick. It's been great learning more and more about you, and I hope that someday you can tell me _anything_ that you want to get off your chest. You don't have to tell me it all right now if you don't want to, but I hope someday you'll learn to rely on me."

_Okay. Now I _have_ to tell her, even though it means that she's going to let go. Her constant support is making me feel guilty, yet she's being complimentary… I don't get it…. _

"Alright—" he began shakily, dreading the consequences of the truth. "It's—well, even when _I_ disagree, there's this thing—" He touched his temple with his free hand. "It's—inside my head—making me—_think_ things that I hadn't before I was officially diagnosed with, well—you know. It—uhm, it makes me think things about, for example, this handhold. Until now, it didn't bother me. Then, when you put—your hand on top of mine—an alarm went off in my head. And—and I didn't even want to set it off; it just happened!"

He watched Natalie's facial response intently, not wanting to divert his eyes to the hand sandwich, because she'd probably be more apt to snatch her hand away if he made it look like it bothered him.

She looked a bit uncomfortable for a second, but he still felt her hand atop his, as well as the one intertwined with it.

"Do you want me to let your hand go?" she asked, quickly adding, "Because I was going to move the top one anyway—I—I'm sorry that it bothered you—"

"You see—the thing is," he began awkwardly, "it doesn't bother me _consciously_, just _sub_consciously." Suddenly his face fell, and a kind of hopelessness had overtaken him. "I'm too complicated; I'll never improve; it's always going to win out."

Despair had walloped him in the stomach as his brain screamed _germs_ one last loud time and he pulled his hand away, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stood up in one shaky motion. Before she could respond he slid past her, making his way for the bathroom to wash his hands. _It's probably too late now anyway, even if there _were_ germs all over her hands that whole time. A germ can go a long way in four and a half hours; they're probably already circulating through my blood._

She removed her seatbelt as well, following him in a kind of confused desperation.

Adrian reached the bathroom first, with enough time to shut and lock the door behind him before Natalie could intervene. The light came on in the small room, illuminating drops of some fluid that someone had left on the toilet seat. He heard Natalie reach the door, thumping it with her fist.

"Mr. Monk," a muffled voice said on the other side of the door. _Damn, she's _already_ drifted away from me, enough to stop calling me by my first name._

"Adrian," the voice repeated louder, more _urgently_. _Okay, maybe my premonitions were premature,_ Adrian thought of his earlier conclusion.

"Please come sit down, Adrian. We're almost there."

"No," he responded stubbornly from the confines of the tiny room.

_How the hell am I going to get him out of there?_ Natalie thought, standing on the other side of the door. A stewardess had looked up at the sound of her thud on the bathroom door earlier, and was now walking towards her. She had to think—fast.

"Adrian, do you want _Sharona_ to see you this way?"

He didn't have time to respond or even think about the possibility, for he heard a deeper woman's voice respond to Natalie, a stewardess most likely.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're going to have to sit down."

"—But Adr—my _boss_ is in the bathroom. I have to get him out of there."

"You're going to have to let your—boss—" she hesitated at the strange situation—"make his own decisions. Please, ma'am. You have to return to your seat. We are going to be taking off soon."

"Well, if I'm not safe standing here, is he safe in the bathroom with the toilet water and all the—fluids, and all the, you know, _germs_ splashing around?"

_That'll get him out of there quickly_. Even though she was being embarrassed by the flight attendant, her last statement would surely make him leave the bathroom.

Adrian knew what Natalie was trying to do and it was working; fear overcame him as he stood in the claustrophobia-inducing stall with all the germy bathroom fixtures and he felt a burning urge to _leave_. He promptly unlocked and opened the door, finding Natalie in a type of stand-off with the flight attendant in the aisle. _Humph. This looks familiar_. _It's usually me the flight attendants fight with_.

Upon seeing her boss leaving the bathroom, Natalie pushed past the flight attendant, hooking her arm around Monk's without another word.

"Let's go sit down, Adrian," she said, leading him back to the seat.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, with the plane touching down in New Jersey less than an hour from the takeoff from New York.

Natalie and Adrian left the plane shortly thereafter, Adrian's heart quickening its pace with each step further into the terminal. He was about to see Sharona again, the woman who had abandoned him not once, but _twice_, and who now was having a miserable time. She hadn't even called him, and yet he had spent his own money to buy tickets for him and Natalie to reach her. _God, I must look desperate_, he thought to himself. _She probably thinks that I have nothing else to do in San Francisco, what with _me_ calling _her_ then flying all the way out here. And paying—_paying_ to fly out here! She had offered to pay—but still—I paid! _

Adrian caught himself fearing the light at the end of the terminal, signifying another major change in his life. That precious time spent with Natalie on the plane—that kiss—was most likely going to have to rest on the back burner, if put on a burner at all. He shuddered at the thought of what was to come, allowing for a neck twitch to ensue. Natalie noticed his change in stance—the tension and fear showing through—and protectively slipped her arm around his own. This was the woman she was going to be up against until this was all over, the woman that held so much importance for Adrian that he was ready—_willing_, even—to face his biggest fear to help her. The woman that could steal her job back—the woman that could steal Adrian's heart back from her.

mmmmmmmm

Adrian felt the warmth of Natalie next to him, her arm around his arm, and gave her one last shy smile before the pair emerged from the terminal. _She's comforting me even though she has no idea what's going to happen. She probably thinks I'm desperate as well, to come all the way out here_.

The detective emerged from the tunnel, slightly blinded by the bright lights of Gate D, as a familiar voice rang in his head and a familiar person approached him.

"Adrian! Oh, thank God you're here!" Sharona said, appearing from out of nowhere, and reaching her good arm out for a hug. Natalie stood fixed next to Adrian with her arm still around his, yet once Adrian's former nurse initiated the hug, he let go of the arm hold and hugged Sharona back—with both arms.

Monk couldn't believe the shape that Sharona was in. She had a broken arm in a cast, a neck brace, and several cuts and bruises on her face. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from tears, and she was wearing a baggy pair of scrubs. A few floppy strands of her hair had somehow slipped out of the braid she had attempted one-handedly, and Adrian pushed them off of her face as she looked up at him as she removed her arm from around his waist.

_Has she truly changed this much, or is it just because of the accident?_ he thought, realizing that her scrubs were a far cry below the miniskirts and dress pants she always wore. Of course it made sense that her hair would be a mess, but she _was_ wearing two different white sneakers, and—

"I'm so glad you went through with it, Adrian. You don't know how scared I was, thinking that you were gonna talk yourself out of coming."

Natalie stood with her arms crossed, being ignored by both Adrian and Sharona now. So much for first impressions of Adrian's former nurse. Sharona seemed nice enough by her actions towards her boss, but as far as bedside manner, it wasn't there. _Well, I have to cut her a break_, Natalie mused. _She's been through a lot in a short amount of time and she's known Monk for years. I guess I'll have to get used to feeling this way. It's not the first time._

Monk spoke up, an amused tone to his voice.

"Well, I actually had to convince _Natalie_ to come with me, because she wasn't going to at first. She's more afraid of planes than I am."

The blonde nurse looked at her interestingly.

"You're kidding me, right? She looks pretty tough to me." She gave Natalie a snippy little smile as she eyed the woman up and down.

_Now, was that an insult or a compliment? It sure felt like a backhanded compliment. Just because someone fears something doesn't mean they aren't tough. And why did Adrian have to bring that up, anyway? Argh. _

"Oh, I'm sorry," Adrian said, moving over to Natalie and touching her arm lightly with his hand. _Maybe he noticed my slight grimace. I hope not._ "Sharona, this is Natalie. Natalie, this is Sharona, my n—well, you know."

Natalie plastered a fake smile onto her face as she shook Sharona's hand, feeling the nurse's unusually strong grip. _Oh, this is going to be interesting indeed._

* * *

**The captain and Disher will most likely be in the next chapter! What do you think of that?**

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy


	10. Memories and Missing Luggage

Author's Note: Since now frowns upon author's comments to reviews, I'll send you replies through the email. Please continue to review, even if I haven't yet gotten to replying to your reviews! I will get to them, because I love them all and love getting them. Thank you, everyone! Hopefully the chapter after this will be more quickly put up.

* * *

After the reunion in the terminal, the group headed to the baggage claim, with Natalie wondering how in the world they would make it out of the airport in one trip. Just as she was about to ask her employer how they were to go about carrying his slew of bags, as well as her modest supply of luggage, Sharona spoke up.

"Adrian, how many suitcases did you bring?"

He immediately cringed out of embarrassment. "Six," he mumbled.

"Still the same old Adrian," the nurse commented, half-laughing. She patted the detective cordially on the back with her good arm, only inciting a slight jerk from the initial contact.

Natalie watched in wonderment. Why not take advantage of the opportunity to watch Monk interact with others: best of all, a person that had been in a similar position to the one she was in now? Maybe she could derive from the interaction where everything went wrong between them to make her leave. By how Monk described Sharona's husband Trevor, she really didn't have a good reason to leave in the first place. There had to be some irreconcilable difference here, and she was going to find it….

The trio stood at the baggage claim for what seemed an eternity, and Adrian was well on the way to having an anxiety attack.

"Where are the bags, Natalie? Did you not put the tags on them?" He paused momentarily, and a blanched look of horror came across his face. "Oh, God. Someone stole them. Just like in Mexico; remember, Sharona?"

He turned to his former nurse, and Natalie realized that she no longer had to figure on a good excuse for the absence of his bags; Adrian was in memory lane mode and there was no turning back, at least not at the moment.

"Oh, I remember that like it was yesterday. You didn't drink anything for like, three days!"

"Yes. They didn't carry Sierra Springs in Mexico."

"Do you still drink Sierra Springs?"

"Yes, but some ignorant fool claiming to be a Sierra Springs employee wrote an article in the newspaper saying that Sierra Springs doesn't triple-filter their water before they bottle it—they only _double_-filter it. I'm going to start my own investigation very soon, because it's been a whole 36-hour period and Sierra Springs hasn't refuted the claim. Now if there was a _number_ on the bottle to call, they would have heard from me already—"

"What are you going to drink until then?"

"Well, I—I—don't—"

He was at a complete loss for words and stood completely still, torn as to what he should do. Natalie's loud groan of irritation made him look over at her.

"You mean to tell me I carried a whole _suitcase_ full of that stuff, only for you _not_ to drink it?" Natalie fumed.

Monk's face took on a sour expression as he attempted to picture the slow, painful dehydration he would most likely soon endure, yet the word _suitcase_ jolted him back to reality.

"Natalie," he moaned pitifully, throwing his arms up in despair. "—my bags…."

"_Our_ bags, Adrian," she corrected him. "Mine aren't here either. But then again, no luggage has arrived yet. Be patient."

He wrung his hands as the chute at the top of the conveyer belt opened and the luggage began to descend the chute. Fabric and hard-sided suitcases, large purses, leather briefcases, pet crates, and trash bags filled the carousel, as passengers sought their luggage. Natalie soon saw her two hard-sided suitcases and grabbed them.

"Natalie… I don't see them," the detective commented, leaning in his close with his arms crossed tightly to his chest. The chute at the top closed with a bang.

"Oh, God, Natalie, they're not here," he moaned nervously, beginning to pace back and forth. Sharona watched him in amazement.

"How it possible that you always have the worst luck, Adrian?" she remarked.

"Well—actually, _you_ do," he replied, still horrified at her unmatched shoes and her neck brace.

The two women watched the curly-haired man pace back and forth, glaring at people who had successfully found their luggage. Suddenly he stopped in place, supposedly seeing something on the carousel that disturbed him, and turned to his group.

"That's just _sick_. How can that _possibly_ be allowed?" he commented, watching the belt with a disgusted stare as he signaled to the luggage.

"_What's_ sick?" the nurse asked.

"Someone put their garbage on our flight," Monk groaned, covering his mouth with his sleeve. "Rotting, stinking garbage, which _had_ to have touched your suitcases, Natalie. Oh, I can _taste_ the particles that were circulating in the plane; they're still in my throat."

"I'm sure that's not the case," she replied hastily. "Some people just don't want their luggage to get beat up or dir—"

Natalie suddenly remembered what she had done. "Adrian!" she shouted joyously, causing him to jolt his gaze over to her.

"Remember, at the desk? You didn't want your luggage to get dirty, so I put it in the bags? That's _your_ luggage, Adrian!"

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" he responded, dead serious.

"No, I bought some _brand new_ bags for you. At the desk, you wouldn't let your luggage go on the plane unless they were kept clean!"

Before he could make another disbelieving remark, she went over to the bag circulating closest to her and pulled it off of the belt. As Adrian watched in horror, she ripped it open to reveal—his suitcase!

Once all six suitcases were loaded onto a clean new dolly, by Adrian's request, the group walked out to the parking lot.

Upon reaching the Taurus, Sharona clicked the keyless locking device and opened the trunk.

"A _black Taurus_, Sharona? Are you a cop… or are you a hitman?"

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Black _never_ keeps clean! You know better than that, Sharona! What happened to the Volvo?"

"I had to sell it before I moved out here. Did you _really_ think I'd make it across the country with that clunker?"

"Well—I don't know, but this is—" He shifted his stance back and forth, eyeing the Taurus like an adversary.

"Actually, this is a rental," Sharona said, breaking the nervous silence. Monk's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"I own a red Cavalier, but it was practically tota—"

"Red! Even worse!"

"What are you talkin' about? Remember your red Mustang days?"

His face turned a shade of crimson as Natalie's jaw dropped. The widowed assistant approached him, her mouth agape but still smiling.

"A red Mustang? _You_ owned a red Mustang?"

His shoulder twitched as he shot a look at Sharona. "Leased—and only for a day."

"Why's that; was it a lemon?"

He looked confused. "No, it was a _Mustang_. A red Ford Mustang."

"Okay, never mind," she said, realizing the mistake of her words. He didn't know cars; she had never even seen him driving one. "Wait—did you even _drive_ it?"

The crimson that had begun to fade from his cheeks returned.

"Yes—"

"When did this all occur? You don't tell me enough of these stories, Adrian…."

Suddenly Monk was more interested in loading the luggage into the trunk than he was in talking about that period of his life. Within moments of his joining in to help, the car was packed and he wordlessly raced for the passenger's seat door.

Sharona soon made her way for the driver's seat, and Natalie couldn't

help but feel a bit left out. She needed to bring up some memories that only she and Monk had experienced. This past life of his, what with him purchasing and driving a red Mustang, was only alienating her more.

"Are you okay with driving, Sharona?" Natalie offered, watching Sharona awkwardly pulling the seatbelt across her chest.

"Yeah, but thanks for askin'," she replied.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The trio arrived back at the house shortly after 1 am. Sharona quietly unlocked the front door, praying that Benjy wouldn't wake up. He was taking his grandma's death really hard, what with his mother believing it was actually murder and all.

To Sharona's dismay, the shaggy-haired boy pulled the door open for her.

"Benjy—you should be in bed—" she scolded him gently.

The boy let his mother slip past him as he watched the two shadowy figures around the Taurus. "Is Mr. Monk out there, Mom?" he asked.

"Yes, Benjy. He's gonna help us figure this thing out." She didn't want to mention the words "murder," "crime," or "death" again, both for her and her son's sake.

"Who's that with him?"

"That's his new assistant, sweetheart. They'll be staying with us until they can find out something one way or another."

"What's her name?"

_Wait, how did he know that Adrian's new assistant is female? Well, it _is_ funny to try to picture Adrian walking with a male assistant having to hand him wipes and be a victim, so it makes sense, I guess…._

After Adrian entered the house with the last suitcase and most conveniently, the smallest one, Benjy ran up to him and threw his arms around him.

"Well, hello, Benjy," Monk responded, still clutching the suitcases and at a loss for words. It had been quite a while since he had seen Sharona's son. "You've really grown," he added quietly, insecurely, as Benjy released his grip from around his waist.

"Actually, he hasn't gotten much bigger since you last saw him…" Sharona commented. "—But, maybe since you haven't seen him in so long, it probably started to look like he did."

Monk was immediately embarrassed and Natalie felt sorry for him. _Why did she have to point that out anyway? Maybe he _does_ look bigger to Monk._

"I—well, I thought that—well, that it was a standard way to greet a child after a long absence. My aunts and uncles—that's just about all they said to me—ever," the detective muttered.

"Ever?" Natalie piped up. She had to work him out of this situation and steer him onto another subject, because it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. Benjy had since left the room, probably embarrassed himself. _A boy that age _should_ be having a growth spurt…. maybe he's a late bloomer…_

Monk spoke up, more assuredly this time.

"Yep—hello, and that I'd grown. They'd come for Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Columbus Day… and they'd say the same thing to me every time—even though it had only been a month, or a couple of months since they had last seen me. I hadn't grown much either, if any, but they still said it, so I thought that—"

_There he goes again, directing himself back towards embarrassment. Come on; reminisce, Adrian._

"Columbus Day?" Natalie asked, incredulous.

"Yes, we'd sit around the dinner table and make paper ships—the _Nina_, the _Pinta_, and the _Santa Maria_—my mother made the best _Nina_. I could never fold it quite the way she did—"

"So basically, your mother made the best paper ship?" Natalie commented, goading him on but honestly fascinated with his dull little story.

"No, the _Nina_. _I_ made the best _Pinta_. The _Nina_ was special, because there was an extra fold that had to be formed around the stern." He began to form an invisible paper ship in his hands, as he continued to speak. "No one could _ever_ do the _Santa Maria_ right, though, not even my mother. The bow had to be folded at a 75º angle to the deck, and on the starboard side—"

"Adrian, what time do you want to start tomorrow?" Sharona cut in.

The detective was interrupted from his reverie and jolted his face to his former assistant.

"Well, whenever you'd like to get started. We need to visit the hospital first tomorrow. Where's Trevor?"

"I kinda blew up at him earlier, so I dunno. He probably went to bed early, or maybe he's out screwing around again, although he'd be in really hot sh—" She saw Natalie standing before her and decided not to totally ruin her image yet, so she calmed herself down a bit and went on. "—_water_ if he did that now." She finished her sentence with a satisfied little smile.

Monk and Natalie proceeded upstairs to perform their bedtime rituals and go to sleep. Sharona had Benjy's bed set aside for Monk, and the couch in the den for Natalie. Arrangements might have to change throughout the week, because that couch was notoriously lumpy….

The next morning Monk awoke to find himself looking at a model airplane suspended dangerously close to his face. Well, actually, it was three feet above his head, but to Monk, that was dangerous.

He slid cautiously out of bed, afterwards taking a shower and doing all his usual morning activity. Once he was clean and done, he headed downstairs where Sharona sans neck brace was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.

"Coffee, Adrian?"

"No thanks. Did you sleep well?"

"A bit better than before, now that I know we're gonna win this thing."

"Win? I thought we were just going to determine what exactly happened to your mother…"

Sharona abruptly put her head down on the table, inciting Adrian to jump a little. "Wh-what's wrong, Sharona? What did I—"

She looked back up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Adrian, if I think of this as happening to my mother, it hurts too much to bear. I can't even say the words. It just… hurts so so much and it's just _killing_ me inside to feel so completely helpless. Benjy too."

A wave of pity surged over Adrian. He was in this situation before—with Trudy. He had felt—he _still_ felt—completely helpless to do anything for Trudy—least of all, figure out who did it—or why. He had never solved his wife's murder—and Sharona still believed that he could help her. Sharona still had faith in him, even though he had failed his own poor deceased wife, in his one unsolvable murder case. Sharona was depending completely on him—a failure in his own mind.

He opened his eyes to find himself standing in the tear-blurred kitchen embracing Sharona fully, the cast on her arm pressing his jacket against his back and her tears soaking through his shirt and wetting his skin. He had been in this situation before—he had done this before and had made a bad decision then—he had kissed her. Not a romantic kiss, not even a kiss on the lips, but a kiss, nonetheless. After that fateful kiss, neither could look at the other in the eyes for those last fleeting few moments before she was gone for good.

Now the situation was uncomfortable. Had he actually cried, or were his eyes just watering? He hadn't remembered standing up, or her approaching him, or any request for a hug from either party. Who hugged who first? Did she know that his eyes were watering? Truly though, it was a good feeling, to just hug someone in a situation extremely similar to one's own.

Suddenly he felt the presence of Sharona's arms—rising—up his back, rising until her hands were between his shoulders, and her arms, pinning his own in place. This was no longer the stance of a hug, and he knew it. This was the stance of a k—

He shut his eyes tightly and tried to think of nothingness, feeling the water from his eyes rolling down his cheeks, too terrified to look at Sharona's face or imagine how she must be looking at him. He _himself_ might break down completely if he saw tears in her eyes again, standing so very close against him and hugging him and wetting his skin with _her_ tears. A shower was in order again, because there was _no_ way in hell that he was going to walk around in public with tears all over his chest, _eye juice_ rubbing off and infecting his next shirt, since it was obvious he'd have to change the one he had on now even though his jacket didn't match the shirt he had in mi—

With her lips pressed firmly to his mouth, she kissed him. No tongue, just solid lip-to-lip contact. In her own home. Not knowing where Trevor was. A cast on her arm and cuts on her face. With Natalie upstairs, and Benjy wandering around somewhere. Sharona kissed Adrian Monk in her kitchen unabashedly, clasping his body tightly against her own, feeling Monk's shoulder blades moving as his arms moved lower on her body, settling in the small of her back.

Natalie had crept quietly downstairs to get shower supplies, believing that Sharona was still sleeping in the nearby bedroom. The coffee brewer was bubbling, the scent of coffee emanating from the kitchen, so she snuck a glance at the kitchen activity—and what she saw startled her to almost yell out. Adrian Monk and Sharona—Sharona, his old assistant, his former nurse—were kissing.

* * *

Author's Note: By the way, I **promise** you that Captain Stottlemeyer and Randy will be in the next chapter! I just have to get a thing built up here before they can enter, and I didn't get it done for this chapter! ("If you build it, they will come" matches this well heee) Please don't abandon me, Captain/Disher lovers! I promise they will be part of the next chapter!

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy


	11. Adrian the Liar

Author's Note: I've replied to everyone's reviews, and I'm looking forward to reviewing all your stories as well! The only people I can't send email replies to are Alyssa and Kura, so I'll thank you here: thank you both very very much for reviewing, and please continue to do so! Please let me know when things sound good/bad, so I can react accordingly and improve the story!

On with the longest chapter so far….. Make sure to review, because I haven't yet begun chapter 12 and I take all your feedback to heart!

* * *

_Maybe it's nothing_, Natalie thought, carefully watching Adrian and Sharona from the living room. Then she saw the glimmer of tears on his cheeks, and his eyes closed ever so gently. _Oh, God, there was something –_ _and there still _is_ something – going on between those two. He's actually crying; the kiss is actually making him cry… And it sure as hell doesn't look like he's crying because of the tens of thousands of _germs_ she's giving him right now. Oh, God…._

Her eyes begin to sting with tears that suddenly and unexpectedly threatened, and she pulled her head back to avoid being seen by the unknowing couple.

_Now, why am _I_ crying?_ she pondered, slowly retreating back up the stairs. _I'm an _adult_; I'm _supposed_ to have complete self-control. _She looked back one last time, although she wasn't in the line of vision with the kitchen, and wiped the tears that had started to brim over her eyelids. _I _do_ have self-control… unlike him._

She proceeded back up to the den, where she sat back down on the couch – the lumpy couch from hell—and got her shower supplies together. Now it seemed like a complete slap in the face that she was stuck with sleeping on this couch, Sharona rubbing salt in the wounds that Adrian had made. _Maybe I'll get to sleep in Benjy's bed tonight,_ she fumed. _Adrian can sleep with Sharona, since they've reunited, and all._

Adrian broke the kiss after what seemed like hours, and upon opening his eyes, he immediately looked down at the ground—avoiding all eye contact with Sharona.

Sharona stared right at Adrian, and used her good arm to lift his chin in hopes that his eyes would follow. When it failed to work, she spoke.

"Adrian, what's wrong? Please, look at me."

His shoulder twitched, as he took his arms out from around her waist, took a nervous step backward, and let out a long sigh. It was then that he looked up, but only for the briefest glance, then back down.

"Adrian," she said, lifting both her hands to his face and using her hand and cast to hold his face. "Look at me. Please."

A tinge of red crept up from his neck and spread across his face, concentrating on his forehead. He obeyed, yet dropped his eyes every few seconds. Cautiously he wiped his hands off on his pants, but did it slowly enough in hopes that she wouldn't notice. Sharona watched him swallow – his Adam's apple moving up, then down – hearing the sound of it quite loudly. She had never imagined in a million years that he'd be so worked up about something as simple as a kiss.

"I know you're probably grossed out right now, Adrian; you look like you're about to have a heart attack, but please let me explain."

She touched his arm, and he accepted it without a cringe or jump. _Progress._ Sharona smiled at the possibility that he might actually _not_ be revolted.

"There's just something so… different about you, Adrian. You've really—I dunno— improved, for the better. I just—" she watched him carefully for any sign of disgust, pride, or however else he could respond to the compliment. His face was blank, so she continued. "I just—I'm so happy you're _here_, and that you flew all the way out here just to help me, after I've treated you so badly. I gave you no good reason to help me by my bein' such a—pardon my French—_bitch_, for so long, and yet, you came out here anyway."

He gave her a half-smile, which faded quickly – too quickly.

"I just thought that, well, because you seemed to have improved so much, and because of the last time we saw each other—well, I, I thought that a –"

He visibly cringed at the word that was to follow. She noted this, and avoided the word _kiss_. _Why does he have to be so…different? Does he think that _that_ was cheating on Trudy? _She never imagined that kind of affection would bother him so much—_how could he have changed so much since the last time we'd met?_

"—that a, well, _you_ know—was the best way to express my gratitude, _and_ my absolute, complete regret for how I'd treated you: never calling you, never giving you a number to reach me, never coming back home—"

Something struck a chord with Adrian in what she had said, and he finally spoke.

"Home, Sharona? You _are_ home. And I don't feel any different than I did before—I think…. Maybe it just _seems _that way because it's been so long, but—"

He began to turn away, to leave the kitchen area, but Sharona dashed around him and stood in front of him.

"Okay, I deserved that for raggin' on ya yesterday about Benjy. But please believe me when I tell you that I would have left New Jersey in a heartbeat if it weren't for Mom bein' here. And you _have_ changed. You're not as—"

"I believe you," he said simply, holding his arms out in defense. "—but I really need to take a shower now and—"

He tried to slip past her, but she shifted over and blocked his way, needing to know what was going through Adrian's head before he left. This might be the last time she could confront him in this way, because maybe he'd solve the case today and go home and that would be it—she'd never know what had happened between them. There _was_ something very different about the way he handled the kiss, she could sense it—not really disgust on his part, but _guilt_. And the fact that he _still_ hadn't mentioned Trudy's name in all this made it all the more strange for him to be feeling guilty. Had he found someone _else_?

"Wait—" she said, touching his arm, as he immediately looked uncomfortable. "Can I ask you just one question before you go away?"

His shoulder twitched, and he muttered a small yes.

"Do you have a girlfriend, is _that_ why you were bothered by that kiss?"

His face blanched white and he suddenly became unable to breathe. _Natalie isn't really my—girlfriend, officially, but I'm committed to her—if only in my mind. How do I answer this without looking like a liar? If I say yes, I'm lying, because I don't _officially_ have one, and if I say no, I'm lying, because_ _Natalie is like—well, to me, she _is_ my girlfr— but then, if I say no, what if Sharona pursues me—Yes is more truthful than no, to me, but it's still a lie. _Both_ are. If I said "kind of," even though that's the truth, it would be confusing to Sharona, and she'd probably start bombarding me with more questions. I wouldn't be able to handle it if Sharona thought I was coming on to her—I did allow her to kiss me—I kissed her back! I better just say…._

"Yes."

Sharona couldn't believe her ears—_Adrian has a girlfriend_, she repeated in her mind over and over again, flooding out anything else she could have been thinking. She stood paralyzed in place, mouth slightly agape, staring in some random downward direction, as Adrian deftly slipped past her and disappeared up the stairs without another word.

Once upstairs, Monk retreated to Benjy's room and picked out another outfit to wear, since the one he had on had been destroyed by all that eye juice. He just _had_ to shower as soon as was possible, for his mind was spinning. Dizzy, he plopped down heavily onto the bed and held his head in his hands, letting all the thoughts he had been holding back flood forth into his consciousness.

_Oh, my God, what have I done? How could I have let that happen? Why didn't I pull away, when I knew what she was going to do? Wait—how could I have known—eh, who am I kidding— I knew, and I still let it happen! And now things are going to be weird between us, now that she thinks I have a girlfriend. How am I going to act around Natalie? I cheated on her. I was unfaithful. I'm an adulterer, no better than Trevor Howe himself…. _

He somehow managed, in his mental turmoil, to get his shower supplies together. His lips, his face, his back and shoulders, his chest, all screamed _germs_ at him, screamed _infidelity_. All places that had been touched, desecrated, _defiled_, in his unfaithful romp in the very house that Natalie was staying.

Walking in a stupor with his supplies and change of clothes, he reached the closed bathroom door and mindlessly attempted to open it with a sleeve-covered hand. It was locked, and the sound of the shower running was soon apparent. He could faintly hear a sniffling sound; was Sharona in there, crying? _Oh God, _what _have I done.…?_ He froze in place in front of the door, paralyzed from the enormous amount of guilt running through every nerve in his body, trapping him in place to listen to his own racing thoughts and the sound of the sniffling from behind the door.

"Mr. Monk?"

The detective visibly jumped and jerked away from the source of the sound, startled by the sudden appearance of Benjy at his side.

"Mr. Monk, are you okay?"

Benjy touched Monk's sleeve, preparing to shake it a little, for the man was now staring blankly at the wall behind him. The little shake that ensued finally allowed Monk to make eye contact with the boy.

"Yes, I'm fine—wait—how long have you been standing there?" he said, in more of a monotone than a question.

"Only for a few seconds. Are you waiting for the shower?"

Adrian was taken aback, and looked down at the items he was carrying to be certain of the purpose he was standing in front of a locked door.

"Yes…." he managed to state, trailing off in the end.

"Well, Mom's in the one downstairs, so Natalie must be in there; Mom usually doesn't take long…."

_So,_ Natalie's_ in the room with the sniffling sound? Maybe the spigot's broken and leaking out water with a sniffling sound…._ _Thank goodness it's not Sharona, crying or something…. _Suddenly he realized what he had forgotten, and retreated to his room without another word.

_Shower head, shower head, shower head,_ his mind repeated, as he searched feverishly for the elusive item. He always carried the object with him in his luggage, but for some reason, it was nowhere to be found in its usual spot: directly to the right of the Sierra Springs bottle most recently purchased.

After a time of absence, Benjy returned upstairs, intently watching Monk searching through his luggage, until it was obvious that Monk wasn't going to be done anytime soon.

"Mr. Monk," he said, watching the detective whirl around from his spot by the bed, eyes wide. "Mom's done now. You can shower in the downstairs bathroom."

"Oh—" he managed to choke out, horrified by the prospect of what the boy had just said. Benjy soon disappeared from the doorway, and Monk was left to think again. He simply couldn't do that. Not only had he been unfaithful to Natalie, but the prospect of showering, naked or almost, in the same exact space that Sharona showered naked, was absolutely appalling. A distant memory surfaced in his mind.

_The worst thing about doing that—showering in that room— is, I _know_ what Sharona looks—well, looked—like naked—and it would get stuck in my mind—_oh God, he was picturing that image in his mind and attempted to think of the missing shower head, but it kept creeping back into his mind again. _I'm being unfaithful _again_, thinking of someone else in such an uncalled-for way_! _Damn Dexter Larson, why—why he did have to show me that—that picture of her? Why did I have to _look_? Everything is my fault…._

He went to the door and took a glance down the hallway, seeing the bathroom door still shut. Hoping to clear his head with a fearful view from a second story perspective, he went over to the window and looked down. It was hopeless. His mind-numbing fear of heights couldn't rescue him from the guilt he was feeling. He put his hands on the sill, not even considering the grayish layer of dust that had grown there. The feelings of guilt were actually conquering his OCD at the moment, and he was truly terrified at what was to come as the day wore on.

_I can't do this today. I can't go investigate this mur—well, whatever this is—with both of them. I think I'd rather die than do that. I can't do—_

"Adrian," he heard, from the doorway. Sharona's voice. He couldn't bring himself to turn around, to look her in the eye ever again. He had lied to her. He had cheated on Natalie with her, and then lied to her about his relationship status.

He could hear her coming closer, her soft footsteps entering the room. _Please please don't let her touch me_, his mind screamed, as his body froze in place.

She stopped moving once she was by his side. She spoke quickly and quietly.

"Adrian, I'm so so sorry for what I did. I didn't mean anything by it…. I hope you're not weirded out by me now."

He turned his upper body towards her, but couldn't look away from the tantalizing view of the window that was keeping his intense guilt at bay for the moment.

"No," he murmured quietly.

Sharona brightened by this, even though he couldn't actually see her.

"Well, I'm done with the shower now, Adrian. We're still going out today, aren't we?"

At the last statement his head shot up, and he looked right at her, only to look away again. Her hair was up in a towel, her pajamas were still on, but she had since applied some makeup. Recent nakedness still surrounded her.

"What?" he barely croaked, shoulders tensing up, hearing the words _going out_ and their immediate implication. _Hadn't she just said she didn't mean anything by that—that thing she did? Why does she have to make this so difficult for me?_

"Ya know, to the hospital. To interview people. You said yesterday that we should t—"

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he looked back at her, giving her a faint smile. She was smiling, but her crystalline blue eyes were pleading with him—he had no choice but to give in.

"Yes, we'll go."

She smartly decided to change the subject to one that he could handle, since it was apparent that the tension was still there about what had happened.

"Okay, well, I'm done in the shower, just to letcha know. I still have to dry my hair, but you'll get the hairdryer back before you're done." She turned around and began to leave the room, looking back at him for a brief second for one last comment.

"It'd probably be best to leave within the next two hours or so," she said, staring at the back of his head, as she left the room. _Who is his girlfriend, anyway? _

_Leave._ The word sounded awfully good to him right now. All he wanted to do was forget that he had ever went to Sharona's house and forget about all this complication with assistants and just go back to the way things were. The simple life was much better: no kissing, no relationships, just him, his apartment, and his memories of a woman who loved him. He turned and picked up the picture of Trudy he had placed on the nightstand.

_Oh, Trudy, what have I done? _he mused, gazing at her pretty picture. _You're probably frowning down on me right now, and you have a perfectly good reason to do so. I screwed up big time. I kissed Natalie and fell for her, then I kissed Sharona, and then I lied to Sharona about the whole thing. I've really dug my own grave this time…._

His beautiful wife didn't appear to him in any form, for his mind was holding too many conflicting thoughts to allow such a vision. Instead, there was a small knock at his door. He turned around and looked. It was Natalie.

"Mr. Monk, shower's all yours," she said, a halfhearted smile on her face fading immediately. Her face had no makeup on it, even though her hair was dry, he noticed. Something about her expression gave him the chills; could she sense that he had wronged her? _Maybe I should tell her everything now, before I go completely insane_—

She departed without another word, leaving him with a slew of new worries. _Does she know? Can she sense a difference in me? She's acting… different. She didn't even call me Adrian! Oh God, she knows, and that's why she's doing this…. Or am I just imagining all of this because of how horribly guilty I'm feeling? _

After gathering his shower supplies and clothes once more, Adrian stood in the hallway outside Natalie's room, staring at her door. Silence met him. _Maybe I'm just imagining things_, he thought, shaking his head. _She shouldn't have to hear about what happened right before we're going to leave for the day. There'd be weirdness between Sharona and _her_ then_. He proceeded into the bathroom. The mirrors were still foggy from Natalie's shower.

_Shower head_, he forced himself to think. No _nudity_, no _kissing_, no skin to skin contact—for hours on end, successfully comforting her, feeling her body warmth radiating against his own. _No!_ _The shower head I have is gone. This one makes a weird sound. I hope it's not clogged with grime, or bacteria or heavy metal deposits…._

He turned on the faucet and directed the water to the shower head by pulling out on the dial. _No sniffling sound_. The spigot was clear and perfectly clean. _Sharona probably made sure of that before I showed up_, he thought, soon realizing what that meant. Was_ Natalie crying?_

Natalie began applying makeup in her room, and couldn't help but think deeply. _Adrian didn't make any attempt to tell me what happened; he was looking at Trudy's picture, though, probably to say goodbye to her for good to move on to Sharona. It figures; he tells _Trudy_ everything, but doesn't even bother letting _me_ know what's going on. _

_I have no claim on him, though. All we did was kiss and hold hands for hours…. He didn't ask me out, I didn't ask him out, we aren't married. He can do whatever he wants…. _She sighed, applying the last of her blush. _I just thought he was more sincere than that, or at least could exhibit some form of self-control. And to think, I really thought I knew him as a shy, devoted, monogamous guy. I don't know how long I can last around him without confronting him…._

Monk finished up with his shower and used the hairdryer to block out all invading thoughts of Sharona and Natalie, but let the usual phobias proceed through. _My phobias are actually comforting; I'm actually thankful for them right now_, he thought, as he put his clothes on.

Sharona met him downstairs, but Natalie was nowhere to be found. He would have to invite her along, even though it would be hard to hold back the dammed-up emotions he had sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be expressed.

After checking the wall clock for the sixteenth time, Adrian sighed and walked back toward the stairs, preparing to invite Natalie along on the first day of the investigation.

Upon ascending the stairs, he realized that Sharona was right behind him. He couldn't allude to the fact that Natalie was the "girlfriend" that he had been referring to, and if Natalie truly didn't know what had occurred, nothing should be wrong with the two of them appearing at Natalie's door. Maybe it would make Natalie _more_ likely to come along, the encouragement of two.

He knocked on the closed door. Soon Natalie opened it, dressed and made up.

"You're coming, aren't you?" he mumbled, unable to look directly at her.

"What?" she said, noticing Sharona behind him, smiling at her. _Bitch_, her mind screamed.

"To the hospital—to, you know, interview the employees."

"Yes, I'm ready. I've been ready. I wasn't sure when you were leaving, so I stayed put."

He watched her turn around and grab her purse, leaving the pack of wipes on the bed.

"Aren't you going to take the wipes?" he blurted, as he watched her face turn a shade of red. She was angry with him!

"No, actually. You seem to do pretty well without them," she heard herself retort. _I can't believe I said that just now. Wait—maybe it's a good thing—he might react—and tell me what I need to know. Why does Sharona have to be standing right there though? A kiss or more or _whatever_ they ended up doing, and now they're inseparable._

Adrian sensed the derisiveness of her comment, and flinched. _She knows; I knew that she knew! Oh—if she _does_ know, and I _didn't_ tell her when I could when she was at my door, she's just going to get angrier and angrier…._ He glanced back sheepishly at Sharona, hoping she had wandered off, but she was still present.

"Well, let me grab them then," he said, slipping past her expertly. That was one thing he was very good at: managing to get past a person without actually physically touching them. He had perfected the art.

Once he had reached the bed where the wipes were sitting, Natalie had already disappeared out the door. He watched Sharona stare at her in disbelief.

_So does she believe that Adrian has actually improved, like I had thought, or was she being sarcastic? _Sharona mused. _It sure _sounded_ sarcastic to me. What's her problem, anyway? I'm the one with all the freakin' problems and _she's_ the one in a pissy mood. She's probably angry because she got stuck with the lumpy couch, but I don't have another bed for her. I wonder how Adrian can put up with someone so moody day after day…._

The ride to the hospital was the most nerve-wracking car trip he had ever taken. It wasn't because of improper driving, stoplight-running, or heavy traffic; it was the pair of eyes he could feel burning into his neck as he sat in the passenger's seat. As Sharona explained the plan to them—their undercover operation—she showed them the outfits she had bought for the investigation, and Monk couldn't do much more than nod and watch the road hoping for a distraction to take his mind off of the unwavering silence from Natalie's seat. The widowed assistant didn't said a word the entire trip, and the constant silence from behind him made his ears ring, hanging in the air so thickly that he found it hard to breathe.

Upon arrival at the hospital, Natalie hopped out of the car as soon as Sharona stopped the car, but before she had shifted to park. She began walking toward the hospital while Sharona and Adrian exchanged glances in the car.

"What's up her ass?" Sharona said, watching Natalie storming toward the building as she shifted to park.

Adrian didn't—couldn't—say anything, so he wordlessly got out of the car as well, waiting for Sharona to get out. Chasing Natalie through the parking lot would not look good, for _she_ most certainly wouldn't respond favorably, and Sharona would then know what was going on, and would probably have a field day with little pointed comments. Sharona could be nasty when she wanted to be, and the fact that she had _already_ made a negative comment about Natalie was not a good sign as to the nature of their relationship.

_What is their problem?_ the nurse thought, switching the car off. _They're _both_ in really weird moods today. _I_ should be the one in the crappy mood. My mother is dead, my husband is gone—somewhere—probably murdered her, I have a broken arm, five broken ribs, and will probably have a scar on my forehead from that wreck, my car is gone, I make an absolute _fool_ out of myself in front of Adrian, finding out he has a girlfriend _after_ the fact—and now they're both acting like they don't want to be here._

Adrian began to walk toward the hospital once he heard the car shut off. Sharona soon emerged from the Taurus and caught up with him, hoping to make an amends. She knew that the comment about Natalie was a bit harsh, and felt guilty about it.

"Okay, I'm sorry for what I said. It really sounded harsh. I have nothing against Natalie. It's just—I just feel like neither of you want to be here, and that I'm gonna have to watch as my last hope goes back to Frisco."

"I'm going to try to help you, Sharona," he replied, continuing to look ahead of him at the advancing Natalie.

The trio stood in front of the front desk, waiting on verification. The woman at the front desk was being difficult once she saw the nurse come in with the detective and his assistant, knowing damn well that the trio wasn't in for a visit.

"I know Sharona's been accusing the hospital employees of negligence, murder, and whatever else. I know _damn well_ she's not here for a visit. What are you, some kind of a detective or something?" the desk worker snapped at Adrian. Sharona and Natalie stood near the door, their arms both crossed as they watched the conversation intently.

"I'm just a regular guy," Monk said to the worker at the front desk, a middle-aged woman with big pink-rimmed glasses and a mess of blondish-dyed hair that screamed for a comb. "I'm just curious that perhaps Mrs. Fleming may have died from something else."

"You can't just accuse our employees of—"

"I'm _not_, that's the thing. I'm a friend of Sharona's from California, and I only want—"

"I don't care _where _you're from or what you do, sir, but you can't just come in here and try to find our employees guilty of whatever you're—"

He leaned in closer to the rude woman, out of earshot of the assistants.

"The thing is, Sharona Fleming wants me to make _sure _that it was a heart attack that her mother died of. I have a bit of medical—well, pathology—experience." A lie had begun to be started, but he was already on a role from earlier, so he continued. "If it was a heart attack, then the chest pains Sharona's been experiencing may need to be checked up on, and her son—"

"She's experiencing chest pains?" The woman said loudly, as she glanced over at the curly-haired nurse, watching her apply some lipstick with a compact. Sharona looked up, flashing an angry look in the direction of the desk. "She should be checked into the ER as soon as possible then." The worker reached for the phone in an official way.

He held his hand up in defense. This was getting complicated. He was going to be in over his head if she didn't allow him in soon.

"You see, the thing is, she was _just _in the emergency room for a car accident and she doesn't want her insurance paying so much in so little time. Her, uhm, premiums will go sky-high if—"

"Tina, if you don't let us in nice and quietly, I'll tell Barry that you've been cheating on him with Dr. Marcovsky."

_Cheating_. The word tore at Adrian's heart, as he pictured Natalie glaring at him from her position by the double doors. Sharona appeared alongside Adrian, an evil grin accompanying her words of blackmail, as the woman at the desk, now identified as Tina, looked like she was about to either cry or scream.

"You bitch," she said menancingly to Sharona. "You wouldn't."

"We _just_ want to go upstairs and visit. For God's sake, it's my _mom_, Tina, don't you give a crap about what's happened?"

Adrian stared at Tina with interest, watching her expression change from that of rage to that of defeat.

"Okay. You got me for now. But if I hear _one word_ about an employee being accused of anything by _you_, sir—" she pointed at Monk—"everyone is going to know about how you blackmailed me to override the system, and you'll be the one sittin' in prison."

Sharona didn't say anything more, instead making her way past the desk, with Adrian following, and Natalie lastly.

They got into the elevator, and as Adrian stood next to Natalie, he could sense an iciness. She didn't say anything, just took an interest in the floor buttons.

"Where do you wanna go? The cardiac floor? That's where the employees on duty that night usually work. We're gonna stop on the staff floor first to change, okay?"

"Okay."

They first stopped on a separate floor to change their outfits and calculate their approach, and then made their way to the nurse's station on the cardiac floor, where Pam, Donna, Geena, and Gary were sitting, all but one of the employees on duty the night Cheryl Fleming died. Pam immediately walked over to her with a pitying expression and gave her a big hug.

"Sharona, you shouldn't have come to work today," she managed to say. "It's too soon…."

"Well, I was supposed to train two new employees today," she responded curtly. "Everyone—this is Mr.—" She suddenly appeared confused, and looked back at Monk, to produce more of the "complete stranger" appearance. "What was your last name again, sir? I'm sorry."

"It's Baska," he muttered, looking over at a silent Natalie.

"Mr. Baska and—Ms. Teeger. They were just transferred here from really small clinics, and they really don't know the ropes yet, and I volunteered to help them."

Monk and Natalie stepped forward, each wearing a pair of scrubs matching the hospital's, as well as neat white tennis shoes. Monk's tennis shoes were practically reflective; Sharona made sure he had nothing to complain about. They had professional-looking laminated cards and were wearing the required uniform, so they'd be able to get the inside scoop on what exactly went on that night after Sharona had left.

"_You_ have to train them?" Gary managed to say, from his position behind a computer at the station. He was a balding man in his mid-thirties with a hint of a moustache and dark eyes that hid behind a pair of large plastic-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. This outburst by Gary surprised Sharona, for Pam was supposed to be the one to offer. It looked even better for Gary to offer though, for everyone knew that she and Pam were close, but not Gary. "You shouldn't have to do that today—let me do it, Sharona. You can go home." He stood up and moved out from behind the nurse's station. Monk and Natalie exchanged contrived unknowing glances to further throw off the scent of familiarity with Sharona and her predicament.

Sharona had been prepared for this offer. It would look even better on her part not to be present, even though it was hard not to be amidst it all, hearing everyone's sides about her mother's death. Everybody at the nurse's station looked accepting of the two new temps.

"Well, if you insist, Gary," she said, walking over to him for a hug. "I guess maybe I _should_ take the day off. Now, are you sure about this?"

"I'm positive. You've had a tough couple of days. You need to sleep, and rest that arm."

"One thing, Gary," she said, leaning in close to him. "They told me they are really bad messing with needles and things, so keep them on light duty for today. No surgery room or anything like that. They'll get better as the week progresses, so just let them do basic stuff so nothing bad happens, okay?"

"I understand, Sharona. I really hope you feel better as soon as possible."

Sharona gave a quick nod to both Monk and Natalie and left the floor via the stairs. No need for Tina to see her, and arouse suspicion by leaving without Natalie and Monk.

Sharona sighed as she left the hospital via the door near the emergency department, preparing for the roundabout walk to her car. She had told Pam the preliminary plan the night before on the telephone so that she would be prepared to egg the other employees on in trusting the two newcomers as real nurses-in-training. She had hoped that Pam could just introduce the duo without her even having to appear, but Pam hadn't wanted to get too involved in such a risky undercover operation dealing with no real legal investigating team. She'd play along as a nurse on the floor catering to Monk and Natalie, but she didn't want to get blamed if the whole operation should fall apart and Monk and Natalie get blamed. _That's understandable, _Sharona had scoffed, hearing her friend make the excuses to avoid the responsibility. _Now that I'm outta there for the day, I just have to find Trevor…._

Monk and Natalie were left standing in front of strangers on the nurse's floor, with the employees eyeing them up as the level of comfort dropped from bad to worse. Nursing was such a dirty line of work, what with having to touch people, inject them with needles, hand out medicine, the list went on. And Natalie was _really_ playing her role well, acting as if she had no idea who he was. His assistant had begun playing the part prematurely; she had been acting that way all day. _Things are definitely different between us…. This can't just be my imagination interpreting it this way because I'm feeling guilty…._

A blue light came on in above one the rooms, along with a telltale _bing_, and Gary signaled for Monk and Natalie to follow. The nervous pair followed him into a room where a man, wired up to a heart machine, was thrashing about, and had inadvertently hit the call button.

"Mr. Davis, please calm down," Gary said, rubbing the man's arm soothingly.

"My…chest—" the patient managed to utter, as he attempted to claw at the annoying wires and tubes connected to him all over his body. The electrocardiogram machine beeped erratically, stopping for horrific amounts of time, and starting to beep again wildly in an attempt to make up for the lost time, or so it seemed.

Gary glanced back at Monk and Natalie, who stood like statues by the doorway, frozen with fear. The man looked like he was dying. The balding nurse then looked back at Mr. Davis, who had not stopped thrashing, and ran out into the hallway.

"Everyone—come quickly—I think this patient is experiencing myocardial infarction."

The whole lot of nurses raced to the room from the nurse's station, with Geena staying behind to alert a doctor. Monk and Natalie ducked back out of the room and stood in the hallway watching the commotion as the defibrillator was wheeled in and doctors answered the call, to race down the hallway and enter the large group of individuals.

The electrocardiogram machine had flatlined. Monk backed up against the wall, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. This was a familiar scene: Trudy's last moments. His heart was racing, as the patient's heart was failing, with nurses shouting "clear" and applying the electrodes from the defibrillator, hearing the gurney rattle with their efforts. All the while Natalie completely ignored him, pretending to struggle to see the patient over the heads of the doctors and nurses present in the room. He suddenly felt very alone, and sunk down to the ground in the hallway, his head in his hands. Now wasn't the time for this kind of investigation; his heart wasn't into it, Natalie hated him, and he was now a cheater—he was now no better than Trevor.

Geena approached the group and stood beside Natalie, but didn't struggle to see over the group.

"Do you want through?" Monk heard Natalie ask the nurse.

"Nah, there's too many in there already," Geena responded. She looked back at Monk.

"Are you alright, Mr. Baska?"

He looked up at her, studying her concerned face. She had dark shoulder-length hair, a pleasant face, and greenish-blue eyes. She wore no wedding ring, so she probably was in her mid-twenties. _Surely she has someone though_, he thought, using his detail-oriented mind.

"Yes," he started off haltingly. He could use the pity from her as a means of extracting needed information. "I just—never had to deal with… such chaos at my old clinic. What's going on in there?"

"The patient is having a heart attack. He's been ill for—"

"Does this kind of thing happen often? Because if so, I don't know if this is the—the ward for me…."

"Well, one of our patients died of a heart attack the night before last—"

"Was no one around? Can people not help those kinds of patients?" he interrupted, looking concerned.

"I wasn't here when it happened, so I don't know—"

"Oh, you mean, you weren't on duty?" He knew the answers to some of the questions he was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her side.

"No, I was on duty, but Sharona—that nurse who brought you in here—was in a car accident and I went and picked her up."

He looked over at Natalie, who had pushed her way into the room. My, was she convincing as a complete stranger to him….

"Wow, a lot happened that night. I wouldn't be able to handle that."

"Well, as you can see, Sharona ended up being okay, and you'll get used to people passing away… it just happens. No one ever died at _your_ hospital?"

"So _that's_ why she couldn't train us today, because of the accident..." He pretended to ignore the last snippy comment she had made.

"Yes, that and—yep, because she's banged up pretty good."

Surely she knew that Sharona's mother was the woman who had died. Why hadn't she mentioned it, being that Sharona was supposedly training him today?

"Must not be_ too_ bad, to come in for work anyway."

"You're awfully nosy, Mr. Baska. She'll probably be back tomorrow, or the day after. She's had a rough past couple of days. Don't you think we can train you as well?"

The long beeeep of the electrocardiogram machine was silenced when the machine was turned off, as he watched the doctors and nurses file past a saddened Natalie, shaking their heads.

"Did he just die?" Monk asked, starting to stand up.

She looked at the train of people leaving the room, and turned back to him.

"Yes, he did. There was nothing we could do—"

"Two people have died without that other nurse here. Do you think _she_ could have prevented them from dying?"

"A nurse, prevent a heart attack? Not hardly, especially if it's an acute attack."

While Monk stood near Geena in the hallway, Donna, a heavyset redheaded nurse in her mid-forties, signaled for Natalie to follow her into another room with the nurse call button activated. It was an elderly female patient.

"Hey there, Judy. What do you need?" she kindly asked the patient, who stared up angrily at the television set.

"I think—I think the dang remote control is dead," she said, pushing a button on a white device connected to the hospital bed. "I can't turn the tv on."

The nurse smiled kindly and walked over to the patient's right side, where the controller was connected.

"Well, that's because you're hitting the call button instead of the power button." She clicked the power button for the patient and the television came on.

"Oh, thank you, nurse. I'm not used to hospitals; I hope I never have to get used to them!"

The two women laughed, and Natalie joined in towards the end, enjoying the good natures of both the nurse and the patient.

As they left the room, Natalie decided to begin her questions.

"So, Judy's new?" she said, as they walked back to the nurse's station.

"Yeah, she just came in here yesterday, thought she was havin' a heart attack but it was just heartburn; we're gonna observe her for a night just to be sure."

"Well, that's good. Was _she_ on all those machines in there?" Natalie mentioned, having noticed a slew of heart machines all disconnected and sitting on the unoccupied side of the room.

"No. Two nights ago, one of our patients had a heart attack and died in that room. We tried everything we could to get her back, but it was too late. She was the mother of one of the nurses that works on this ward, and the sad thing was, that nurse was off-duty and got in a car wreck at the time that she passed away. She's the one who was supposed to train you today."

"I can't believe she even _thought_ she should come in. That's terrible what happened to her."

Monk wiped off his scrubs with sleeve-covered hands, disgusted by the sight of a yellowish pool of liquid on floor next to him, less than a foot from where he sat. How had he not seen that? Geena watched all of this with great interest. _A germaphobic nurse, what an oxymoron_, she mused, smiling to herself. _Wait—something about him sounded familiar…_

He watched the brunette nurse pause for a moment as if deep in thought, and then she decided to speak, instead of just answer him.

"Well, you're gonna learn the tricks of the trade quickly here, Mr. Baska; you ask an awful lot of questions. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make a phone call."

He looked at her, extremely suspicious. She smiled sheepishly, pointing down.

"There's urine on the floor next to you. I didn't notice it before, but now I have to call an orderly to clean it up. That is, unless you want to, which is fine…."

He cringed visibly, taking a step away from the human liquid waste.

She laughed. "That's what I thought. It's okay, it _is_ pretty gross. It doesn't usually happen though, so don't worry."

She touched his arm, watching him jerk away as she took off in the direction of the nurse's station. Pam nodded to Geena as she approached Monk from the nurse's station, a tag in her hand.

"Well, we're going to have to wheel this patient down to the morgue. Would you like to see the facilities, Mr. Baska?" she asked him. A tour was preplanned so that Monk could view Cheryl's records and notice if anything seemed wrong. Unfortunately for the patient but fortunately for Monk and Natalie, there was now a legitimate reason to head down to the morgue today. Cheryl's body would still be down there, but this was the last day it would remain before it was sent to a funeral home, so the plan had to be airtight, fast, and effective.

"Alright."

"Here, bring the tag down to the room. Gary's waiting in there, so you don't actually have to put it on the patient yourself."

Natalie joined Monk and Gary in the room as the preparations were made for the body to be brought down to the morgue in the hospital basement.

The detective handed Gary the tag, a piece of paper with a strong synthetic thread looped through it, but not tied in a knot. The nurse proceeded to pull the sheets completely off of the patient—Monk closing his eyes at the sudden movement—and tie the thread around the patient's toe.

A jab in the side from Natalie, and Monk reopened his eyes, to see her looking at him—no, _glaring_ at him—the patient thankfully covered in his nether regions with the remnants of the hospital gown around his waist. _I have to tell her_, he told himself over and over. _I keep seeing things, interpreting her glances, her words, as sinister. But Natalie can't be like this. She just _couldn't_ know. The—the thing—only lasted 22 seconds or so. I timed it. It's just not possible that she could have happened upon us at that time without saying anything. This—this just has to all be in my head. I have to tell her—before I explode in front of everybody. I have to…. _

"Now, guys, we have to put a special sheet under this patient before we can wheel him down," Gary said, the usual nurse to handle the lifting jobs, being as he was stronger than the other nurses on the ward. Pam waited back in the nurse's station, watching Geena disappear into the waiting room at the end of the hall. "Could somebody hold his head and roll him over with me so we can slide the sheet underneath?"

Natalie acted as if she hadn't heard the nurse's request, randomly pulling a stray wipe from her pocket and wiping her hands off with it, first one, then the other. Monk watched her, eyes agog, as she ensured that each finger and space between had been covered. _What's she doing? Why is she ignoring the nurse? Where did she get that wipe? _Monk pondered, his mind leaving the environment and focusing on this strange, Monk-like behavior by his assistant. Afterwards, she promptly tossed the used wipe into the trash can, ignoring the fact that Monk's mouth was now agape. _She's _mocking_ me; _that's_ what she's doing!_

"Mr.—Baska? Could you help me?"

Monk was shocked at the request, and stood there blankly, gaping at the body. _Me, touch a dead body, a person that had just died? A stranger? There's no way I'm getting near it, let alone—_

"Ms. Teeger? Can _you_ hold his feet for me?"

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I'm extremely germaphobic—mainly about the deceased, though. I'd need like three pairs of gloves to touch him, and by the time I get them on, an hour would probably pass." She noticed his surprised gaze. "I _could _do it, but you may have to wait awhile." She paused, giving the nurse a half-smile. "At the clinic where I used to work, I was the sterility expert, so there was a use for me. No one _ever_ caught hospital-borne infections in my ward."

"I believe you," Gary said, flashing her an approving smile. _Is she _flirting_ with this man right in front of me?_ Monk mused, suddenly feeling very out-of-place.

The blonde looked proud for a moment, smiling back at Gary, and then began speaking again. "So, would you still want me to—"

Monk flashed her a look of fear, which quickly turned to a look of confusion. _What the hell is she trying to do? If I turn him down as well, it's going to look bad. I don't think I can handle this…. It's a dead body, though probably still warm…. Oh God. _

"Mr. Baska, please help me. It's probably better that you help, because you can probably lift more anyway."

He immediately shot a look at the nurse, who was indicating the spot where Monk should stand, and he timidly walked over to it, using his peripheral vision to watch Natalie smile and cross her arms. _We were so close_, he thought. _She always treated me so wonderfully, so caringly. She knew how much things bothered me, and helped me through them. God, I could kick myself for getting in such a mess…._

The male nurse indicated the foot that Monk was to lift to facilitate flipping the corpse onto its side. "Just lift his left foot there—the one on your right—and hold it up so I can slide the sheet underneath him."

He went to touch the foot, and pulled back, unable to make eye contact with the nurse.

"Do you by any chance have any gloves?" he mumbled weakly, his stomach turning.

"You don't need 'em. This is a really quick process. Just lift up on it with me, okay?"

Nausea surrounded him, as his food meandered its way back up his throat. He gulped, hearing the loudness of the sound and praying that Gary didn't get suspicious. Natalie had blown any excuse he could have used dealing with his very real germaphobia, which now also meant that for the rest of the day he'd be forced to do the dirty work—around Gary, at least.

Grimacing, the detective managed to touch the bare foot of the dead man with his thumb and two fingers, but pulled away.

"It's still warm..." he murmured, itching for a wipe. How revolting. Three horrible elements in one job: a dead person, a bare foot, and it being a complete stranger with who knows what all over himself. The only dead person he hadn't minded touching in his entire life was Trudy, but even so, he hadn't fully comprehended her death at that point, so it truly didn't count.

"Yes, the body slowly cools down postmortem, but we have to speed that process once he's in the morgue for better preservation. Are you ready, Mr. Baska?"

Gritting his teeth and preparing for the ever-rising stomach contents to fill his mouth, he grabbed the man's foot and looked up at Gary in a near-panic, sweat beginning to bead up on his forehead but already dripping down his sides from his armpits.

"On the count of three, hold him up. One—two—three!"

Monk and Gary lifted simultaneously, Gary deftly sliding the sheet that he had draped over one arm underneath the body. The detective closed his eyes as he lifted the man, pretending as if it was the effort that was making him need to close his eyes in the struggle to lift. Natalie ran over and helped position the sheet, noticing that Monk had to be freaking out right about now, but that his eyes were indeed shut tightly. _He's really dealing well, considering_, she mused, watching him intently. _Dead person. Bare foot. And the body, exposed in the open back of his hospital gown. Why won't Adrian just explain himself so all this foolishness can stop? I hate making him do this, but he needs to know just how much it hurts to be discarded for another on the _very next day

"Okay, you can put him down now," the nurse added, after the sheet had been straightened.

Monk promptly let go, allowing the body to hit the sheet with a thud. Germs covered his hands, dead person germs, nakedish person germs, stranger germs. Gary was staring at him, still stunned that he had just let go of the body, so he had to wait to begin to wipe his hands off.

mmmmmm

Back in San Francisco, Captain Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Disher were making their rounds along Pine Street where Adrian Monk resided, when they heard an alarm blaring from the vicinity of Adrian's house.

"Wanna swing by Monk's place, Captain?" the young cop asked the red-headed man sitting in the passenger's seat.

Stottlemeyer considered for a second and smiled at Disher, who jumped at any chance he could to drive the squad cars a little bit further than planned.

"Why not? That alarm going off can't be his own, but even so, we may as well see what's going on and stop that alarm before he freaks out completely. Wait—he probably already has."

Both men chuckled, knowing the detective all too well.

"Do you think he'll be home?" the lieutenant inquired.

"Of course," Stottlemeyer replied matter-of-factly. "He never goes out, unless he's on a case or—grocery shopping, but he always does that on Mondays. Isn't it funny how I remember that?"

"How did you remember something like that, sir?"

Disher sure did know how to make someone feel competent, if nothing else.

"Well," he began to say, feeling his face getting warm. "I always notice that there are an awful lot of people that seem to come out of nowhere with unbagged groceries on Monday mornings, and no one's ever chasing them, and no store alarms are going off."

He took a moment to laugh before finishing up describing his observations.

"On Mondays, Monk always finds at least a buggy-full of expired groceries to clear out of the store before he begins shopping. I watched him do it one time. I think the tightwads of the town have become aware of this development too, and wait for the groceries to be thrown out back."

"Wow, Captain!" Disher commented, pulling out a pencil and notepad as he slowed the squad car down in front of the detective's apartment complex. "Those are great observations, proving why _you're_ the captain of the department." He paused briefly, turning the page of his notepad over to reveal a clean sheet. "Um, you were saying… _Which_ grocery store does he shop at?"

After some good-natured laughter from the captain, the answer wasn't given as it was now obvious that it was Adrian's apartment complex which had the blaring alarm. Disher excitedly parked the squad car in front of the entrance to the complex, and the two men walked up the front stoop to the gated doors, noticing that they had been jimmied open.

It had been a boring day at the SFPD so far, with no major criminal occurrences other than the occasional call of vandalism or a purse snatching, and so, a slight change of pace was welcome. However, their day was about to get much less welcoming, as the pair approached Adrian's heavily damaged, wide open front door.

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**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	12. A Horrific Crime

Author's Note: I replied to all your reviews but one person's review. Thank you very much for reviewing, Dare! I do hope you continue to review! I'm keeping your ideas in mind, so one or more of them may appear…. Thank you everyone else as well for reviewing, and I hope you all continue to do so!

On with the chapter….

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Drawing their guns, Captain Stottlemeyer and Randy quietly entered the detective's apartment, and upon seeing the disaster that awaited them, the captain grew panicked. 

"Monk? Where are ya, Monk?" the captain yelled out in the apartment. A crash followed, the sound of glass shattering. Another alarm rang out, shrill and incredibly annoying, creating a horrible dissonance with the lower-pitched alarm that had already been blaring.

The captain ran toward the source of the sound, noticing dust covers atop everything, removed from some furniture but still present on the kitchen counter, the dining room table, and everything in Adrian's living room. It was then that it dawned on him: Adrian had left for New Jersey yesterday. He had completely forgotten about it, because it was such an impulsive thing for the detective to do, and Adrian _never _did things impulsively. He silently cursed himself for yelling out Adrian's name, realizing that if they had entered the apartment quietly, the intruder wouldn't have heard them and gotten away.

With Disher trailing him, he reached the broken bedroom window where the intruder had exited the apartment. Both men heard a car horn honk as the intruder, clad in jeans, a black jacket, and with a hood pulled over his head, run right in front of a car on his way across the street.

"Damn it," the captain yelled, slamming his fist down on the sill. Pieces of glass fell from the broken pane, barely missing his hand.

"Want me to take a shot at him, Captain?" Disher offered, raising his gun.

The captain put a hand on the lieutenant's gun, lowering it to the floor.

"You can't shoot at him from this angle. Look at all those people; what if you missed?"

They watched as the intruder disappeared into a crowd of people across the street, gone entirely from their line of sight.

Only then were they able to assess the damage to Monk's apartment. Both men turned around simultaneously to survey the area.

"Oh my God," Stottlemeyer said, gazing at Monk's bedroom. The mattress had been pushed off of the box spring, and slopped partially off onto the floor, where a couple of broken pickle jars lay, their contents spilled out all over the carpet, staining the pristine fabric a light greenish. Adrian's armoire and dresser drawers had been opened and his clothing thrown all over the room, some of his jackets and socks lying in the pickle juice, while others were covered in ketchup. _Ketchup?_ Huge cans of ketchup had been cut open with some kind of hacksaw, and there were dents in the wall from where they had obviously been thrown. Both of Adrian's nightstand lamps had been broken, knocked onto the ground, and the glass in the picture above his bed had been shattered. _Probably by the ketchup cans_, Stottlemeyer mused. Reality shot back, as he realized what he had to do.

"Disher, go down and question the witnesses that may have seen the intruder's face," the captain commanded his partner, handing him a notebook and pen. "Get as much info as you can about the intruder. Hurry, before they're all gone!"

Stottlemeyer watched Disher run off in the direction of the front door, tripping over a downed end table in the process. The alarms continued to blare as sirens wailed from outside the apartment, high-pitched police sirens, ambulance sirens, and the lower-pitched wails of fire engine sirens. _Fire engines?_

"Disher!" he managed to yell to the retreating man.

"What, Captain?" the lieutenant responded, sounding far away.

"More cops are coming. Tell them to scope out the streets for the perp. Tell them the description of the intruder. You remember: black jacket, blue jeans, wearing or not wearing a hood, probably in the neighborhood of 5'9" or so."

"I haven't forgotten," Disher said, continuing his trek away from the apartment. "Wait—is that neighborhood nearby?"

Laughing spitefully as to the ignorance of his partner, Stottlemeyer left Adrian's bedroom, feeling sick for the sake of his friend. _Why would somebody do such a thing?_

Monk's living room was a disaster. Everything in his shelves was strewn all over the floor, the pictures of Trudy had been thrown like Frisbees across the room, walls covered with picture-frame-width indentations and floors covered with broken glass, and the contents of his desk were in a small pile, plumes of blackish smoke rising from its contents. _Oh my God, he was gonna burn Monk's place down._

The captain immediately ran into Monk's kitchen and grabbed one of the fire extinguishers from under the kitchen sink. Soon the smoldering fire was out. _That's probably what set off the alarms_, he thought to himself. _Surely if the alarms had been set off upon the perp entering the building, he wouldn't have had time to do all this damage._

The kitchen was horrendous, with pots, pans, and dishes all over the floor, the ceramic tile cracked and shattered in places of impact. All the refrigerator's contents had been emptied and thrown about, with every Tupperware container, every Ziploc bag opened and thrown onto the dining room rug, stains of every color everywhere. His head throbbed, imagining the look on Monk's face to return home to the disaster that was his apartment.

_I gotta get out of here right now_, he told himself, making his way to the door. _I have to think._ A man stepped in the doorway. He instinctively reached for the pistol on his hip, but was met with a little yelp.

"Captain—I'm Monk's upstairs neighbor—you remember me—Kevin Dorfman. You remember me, right? I was at your annual barbeque—um, I won the lottery a few years back—oh yeah, I accompanied Monk on a case involving a rigged game show—not to mention, I was also—"

"Yes, I remember you," Stottlemeyer replied with a sigh. _The guy sure does know how to talk. Maybe he can tell me what he knows…._

"Do you know anything about what happened here?" he asked the skinny bespectacled man, yelling loud enough to be heard over the two alarms that were now blaring, along with all the sirens.

"Actually, I _heard_ the fire alarm go off—but I was cooking at the time, so I thought it was my own fault. Apparently when one's set off, there's no way to tell _which_ alarm was set off first, because the whole apartment blares. But anyway, I was making a roast for my girlfriend—she's coming over tonight—and I never can make them without burning them somehow—so I open the oven and—" he craned his neck to see around the captain, suddenly too devastated to continue.

"Oh my word," he gasped, viewing the destruction, as he covered his open mouth. "Oh my… Where's Adrian? He has to be out of his mi—"

"He's out of town," the captain replied. "So wait—_which_ alarm we're hearing's the fire alarm?"

"The lower-pitched one. It's been going off for quite some time now. Everyone else in the apartment is across the street, but I figured that my cooking—which didn't actually catch on fire—set it off, so I stayed put. No use burning something else, ya know? I still had peas heating up in the microwave with three minutes left. You're not supposed to leave your cooking." He put a hand around his ear, concentrating on the discordant sounds. "Wait—that second alarm—that must have just started—that's the burglar alarm. We've never actually _had_ a burglary here before though, because—well, _you_ know why—so I've never actually heard it before today, but that definitely hasn't been going on for long."

A group of firefighters reached the foyer. "Captain Stottlemeyer, do you know where the fire is?" one asked.

One of the men looked sternly at Kevin. "You were supposed to evacuate the premises, sir," he said.

The captain put a hand up, silencing the group. "The fire was in _this_ apartment, which was broken into earlier. I came up to investigate, and put out the fire that the intruder had started." He stepped out of the way, allowing for the men to see the damage.

"Oh my—wait, isn't this Adrian Monk's apartment?"

"Yes, but how did you know—"

"He's called the fire department before—several times. We came all the way over here to find that someone had been _smoking_ by his front door, and he smelled the fumes or something. Another time, he saw a—"

"Okay, I understand," Stottlemeyer replied hastily, needing to just get away from it all for a moment or so.

A group of police officers met him by the gate, followed by Disher.

"I had them ride up and down the streets for the perp, but five nine Pine St. doesn't exist, Captain," the lieutenant commented.

The mustached man shook his head, chuckling to himself. Silence met him.

"So, did you find the guy?" he asked his partner.

"No, we didn't. I questioned the people across the street. They are actually residents of the apartments who had to evacuate—the fire alarm was going off. No one got a good look at his face, but a few said that it was a man, about 5'9". How did _you_ know he was a guy, Captain?"

"I didn't. Guy could mean _either_ gender. Lieutenant, call the insurance company. Good work on the questioning. Now, I'll take these _guys_ with me up to the apartment."

The alarms were turned off, and everyone on the street cheered, their ears finally able to rest. As the residents filed back into the apartment complex, Stottlemeyer and the group of police officers, as well as forensic fingerprint collectors, soon came to the conclusion that the intruder had been wearing gloves. However, the captain hoped for some evidence elsewhere.

"Wait a second," he said, stopping the retreating group of officers. "Monk would never buy this big of a can of ketchup," he said, holding up the enormous business-size can of ketchup. "Actually, the idea of a _can_ of ketchup would keep him from buying it, because it bothers _me_ just to say it. Is there a way that we can find out where this was purchased?"

A female officer approached him. "Well, the top's cut off, so the barcode is gone. Does it have a company?"

"Heinz," the captain admitted, looking at the common label on the can. "Welp, we're back to square one." He thought a moment, reconsidering his statement.

"Actually, the guy bringing the cans with him shows that he knew Monk wasn't home. Who would know _that_, though? _I_ even forgot, and Monk invited me out there himself."

After several more minutes of unsuccessful efforts to lift prints, the group of cops left Monk's apartment, leaving the captain by himself in Monk's wrecked home. Though his fingers itched to begin straightening things up, he had to wait for Disher and the insurance appraiser to arrive to take pictures. It only took another 30 minutes for Disher to arrive with the insurance appraiser.

"Have you contacted the homeowner yet, Captain?" was the first sentence out of the appraiser's mouth.

The captain looked uncomfortable. "You know, I was hopin' we could get most of this cleaned up and squared away before he comes back…."

"You mean, he's not here? Where is he?"

"Jersey," the captain responded, sighing.

"Well, this just isn't going to work. He needs to be here, in order to assess the damages himself—"

"Just take the pictures, buddy," the captain interrupted, looking stern. "From every angle. Of everything stained, broken, cracked, or otherwise ruined in any irreversible way."

The photographer soon finished several rolls of film of the mess. Once he had left, Disher and Stottlemeyer worked to put the intact furniture and items back in order, straightening up the kitchen, cleaning the Tupperware, throwing out the Ziploc bags, washing and putting the unbroken dishes and plates away; putting Monk's vast collection of papers and CDs back onto their shelves, but not yet touching the pile of papers that had been set on fire. Captain Stottlemeyer knew the papers about Trudy's death were in that pile, and he didn't have the heart to disturb it yet, to revisit those memories, so they were left to lie undisturbed for the moment. Monk's mattress was positioned back on his bed, as well as the items from the armoire and dressers being returned to their previous places.

"When—_what_ are we going to tell Monk, Captain?" Disher asked, as the last of the reversible damage was fixed. Even so, the house was still a mess. There were ketchup and pickle juice stains all over Monk's bedroom carpet and food stains on his dining room rug, the glass in every single picture frame was shattered, his front door was destroyed, and many kitchen tiles were chipped and cracked. The captain and lieutenant placed the broken and destroyed smaller items neatly along the hallway as if they were waiting for replacement, and the entire hallway had become a very narrow walkway with all that was lining it.

"We're gonna have to tell him the truth, but it's really gonna kill him," the captain responded. "He'll probably wanna get back here as soon as possible…. Ya know, I honestly don't know what to do. Not only do we have to get this place back in order, but we still have no idea who would do something like this."

"Isn't it odd?" Disher said, sounding as if he had more to say.

"What's odd?"

"The intruder didn't touch the bathroom, didn't do _one_ thing to it," the lieutenant commented, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Oh yeah. I really didn't notice that, with the rest of the place being like it is. Oh now, if he _had_ done something, like covering it with food or something, it wouldn't be livable for Monk. He'd be out of here."

"That guy sure made sure that all the pictures of Trudy were destroyed though. Do you think he could have been one of the—"

"If he _was_ one of the guys who killed her, knocking her pictures off the wall or throwing them, along with everything _else_ in the house, is an awfully subtle way of showing it, dontcha think?"

"Well, maybe he didn't _want _Monk to know, so he destroyed as much as possible, _along_ with the pictures," Disher commented.

"I've come up with one theory so far," Stottlemeyer sighed, standing up and going over to the trash bag containing food and unrecognizable bits and pieces of destroyed items. He pulled a ketchup can out of the bag and waved it at Disher.

"Monk would never buy something like this. The intruder had to have known that Monk wasn't here, to bring the cans with him."

"Who would know that he left?"

"Maybe someone in his apartment complex or—"

"Actually, I talked to the landlord and everyone was present out by the curb at the time the fire alarm went off. Everyone but—" he pulled out a notepad heavily scribbled on. "—Kevin Dorfman, Monk's upstairs neighbor. He came outside later."

"Yeah, I talked to him," the captain responded. "He said he had stayed in his room because he thought he had set the fire alarms off. He showed up at Monk's door after you left to question the people outside. He—"

"Could the intruder have circled back around after running away, to watch the mayhem? I've read that arsonists often come back to observe the turmoil they cause…"

"I've read that too, but _Kevin Dorfman_?"

Without a word, Disher disappeared into the living room, carrying a fresh trash bag that he shook open.

"Captain, aren't we going to get rid of the stuff in this _charred_ pile?" he asked from the other room.

Stottlemeyer didn't want _anything_ from that pile thrown away, no matter _how _destroyed it was.

"No, no, don't touch that, Disher. That's Monk's—well, Trudy's—murder papers."

"Wait—how about the papers poured onto his desk—oh my God."

Disher suddenly appeared, a grave expression on his stark white face. In his hand was the official police report describing the murder of Monk's wife, and across it in black marker was written:

I KILLED TRUDY

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**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	13. Tables Turned

Author's Note: I know I haven't gotten to reply to all your reviews yet. I will very soon. I have these horrible comprehensive exams to take at my college (it's a senior year rite-of-passage I need to pass in order to graduate) and I haven't had time to do anything. However, I did promise I'd have this up soon, and I'm sorry it wasn't sooner. I hope none of you have left me… Please review!

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Monk, Natalie, and Pam entered the service elevator with the deceased patient on a gurney, the detective feverishly wiping his hands off on his scrubs as he watched an orderly nod at Geena and head for the pool of urine with his supplies. _Not the nicest nurse that ever was, but she _was_ telling the truth_, he mused. Suddenly it dawned on him: there were four people, _one _dead, in a 6x10' soon-to-be-closed box along with a heavy gurney. The weight limited seemed to flash at him, _6000 pounds_—1000 pounds more than the weight limit of the hospital elevator in San Francisco that he had ridden—as Pam hit the button for the basement floor. When he had been sick in the hospital months before, he had been much more frightened of elevators, but now that waning fear of elevators had been replaced—err, compounded—by the death particles that were circulating in the box, floating off of the dead man's body. Before the doors could shut, Monk turned to face the doorway, hyperventilating as quietly as possible—letting all that bad _death_ air out of his lungs—and then sucking in a long slow breath and holding it.

"Mr. Monk, do you have any leads yet, any clues?" Pam asked him, pressing the button for the basement floor, as the elevator door completely closed. He remained turned around, facing the door.

"I don't think Donna did it," Natalie commented, watching her boss's motionlessness.

"Why is that?"

"She's just… so nice, and she had no problem in telling me what happened the night Mrs. Fleming passed away. She was very nice to the patient we saw, the—"

"How about you, Mr. Monk? I saw you talking to Geena in the hallway…."

He didn't reply or move, glued facing forward. Natalie appeared at his side, glaring at him.

"Adrian, she's asking you a question. Did Geena tell you anything?"

He shook his head slightly, and Natalie could see that his cheeks had a slight tinge of blue to them. Immediately she became panicked, and forgot for the moment that she was really upset with him.

Without another word, Natalie spun Adrian around until he was facing her, until they were face-to-face and very close in proximity. His eyes registered a blank, as he continued to hold his breath. He was frozen in fear, fear of death, fear of death air, fear of elevators—his brain and mouth included.

"Adrian, talk to me. Adrian, what's wrong? Are you choking? Say something. Adrian!"

He watched the fear in her eyes as he began struggling to hold his breath. He began to feel very dizzy, and he shut his eyes tightly, using his last moments of sanity to keep from taking in the poisoned air.

"Is he choking? Let—let me try to get around the gurney—" he heard Pam say, as the gurney pushed against his leg.

Suddenly he felt a pair of arms wrap around from behind him and squeeze, pushing his stomach in and making him release the pent up air.

After he had breathed a couple of times, he remembered his environment and what was in it, and took another breath in, preparing to hold it. The gurney knocked against him a second time in Pam's unsuccessful attempt to squeeze around it.

"Mr. Monk—" he heard the nurse say, calmly, yet urgently.

"Adrian, please, speak to me." Natalie's hands touched his face lightly, cupping his face in them. He could tell they were her hands; they were clammy and cold, just like they—well, one of them, at least—had been on the flight. He didn't jerk away, but he kept his eyes tightly closed.

"Cut it out!" Natalie said, yanking on his arms as she watched his face. "Just _breathe_ like a normal person! If you make yourself pass out, _so help me_…." Waving her small fist in his face, she tried to look and sound intimidating, but his eyes were focused on something far away and his expression unchanged.

_Why is he doing this to me?_ The thought shot through the assistant's mind, along with the knowledge that he was alright and that this was just some kind of panic attack. _I saw him breathe after that squeeze. Is he trying to make me die of a heart attack? Now, what would make him start breathing and not automatically hold it again? He's going to make himself pass out if I don't do something…._

She decided on a highly unexpected action to make him start breathing again correctly: she pulled the shirt of his scrubs up to his neck in one swift motion.

Automatically he began breathing again, opening his eyes in complete shock and pulling his shirt back down to cover his exposed skin—seeing that Natalie had done it to him, and was now smirking at him—not angrily, not evilly, but almost _playfully_. His face went red and radiated throughout his whole body, along with a sunburn-like warmth. To see that Natalie had done something so totally—so unexpectedly—unexpected, and then look at him that way afterward, made him want to curl up and die.

"Adrian," Natalie managed to say, breaking the shocked silence. His face went stern and he looked away, as the elevator finally reached the basement floor.

As soon as the door opened, he stormed out of the elevator, breathing the better but still highly dead and diseased air of the basement—where the morgue was. He couldn't even look in the direction of the elevator, storming off where the arrow pointed to the morgue. Natalie helped Pam move the gurney out of the elevator, since it had been made quite crooked by her failed efforts to move from her side to Adrian's.

She watched her boss, seeing him in a new light—he was angry and completely humiliated—absolutely _enraged_ at the moment—a mood she had never seen him in until now. And it scared her, turning her self-satisfied feeling after the flashing incident into that of intense regret and embarrassment.

"Is he going to be okay?" Pam asked the blonde assistant, after Adrian had disappeared from sight. Natalie was rendered speechless for a moment.

_Maybe I've severed the tie completely between us,_ she thought, suddenly panicked. _Maybe before, he was torn between Sharona and me, and so he couldn't tell me, but he _was_ being different. Now, though, he has no real reason to ever want to see me again. I better apologize to him; what I did was wrong. Totally wrong. _Something slid down her cheek—a tear. She wiped it away immediately.

"What's wrong, Natalie?" the nurse asked. _Damn it, she saw it_. "I knew Monk was germaphobic and all, Sharona's told me all the stories about it at work… but is he, um—horribly _modest_ or something too?"

"Oh, he's phobic of everything. He wasn't actually sick in the elevator; he was holding his breath to keep out the bad air—"

"_Bad_ air?" Of course it sounded stupid.

"Yeah, a dead person, in the same little closed space as him—"

"Oh, I see now."

mmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Monk stood in front of the door to the morgue, hearing his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Never had he felt so violated in his life—_well, there was the time that_—_no, what Natalie did was unspeakable, what with me _already_ fragile_—and the world around him was actually _trembling_—his eyes were actually _shaking_ from the incredible anger he felt. Every hair on his body was standing on end; tremors were passing through his body. Momentarily forgetting his intense fear of touching doorknobs, Monk grabbed the door handle of the morgue with his bare hands and pulled it open to have it slam against the wall, echoing through the basement.

Natalie heard the slam as she and Pam steadily approached the morgue with the body. She flashed the nurse a look of panic at the sound, and pushed the gurney more quickly through the hallway.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to present some proof of identification before you can enter the morgue," the pathologist said, bolting upright at the sound of the door slamming and the presence of the angry man before him. "The morgue is off-limits to—"

"I could enter if I was dead though, _right_?" he shrieked at the man, storming past him to the freezers. "_They_ can't present their identification, yet _they're_ allowed!"

The tall brunette bespectacled man ran up behind him, grabbing him by the back of the shirt. Monk spun around, highly irritated. His mind was unstable; he was only a step away from total insanity at the moment and the doctor was _really_ pushing him.

"Are you authorized to be down here?" the man repeated more loudly. "I can't just let anyone who wants to come down—"

"I'm an employee here, aren't I?" Monk said, clutching his scrubs. "Who _isn't _more authorized than an _employee _here!"

The doctor held out his hand.

"_What_!" Monk yelled at him.

"Your employee ID please," the pathologist instructed. He obediently reached into his back pocket for the laminated card, feeling really stupid.

Suddenly Pam and Natalie entered the cadaver room.

"John, it's alright," Pam said comfortingly. "He _does_ work here. He's a new temp nurse up on my floor, and I wanted to give him a tour of the premises. He wanted to help wheel down the latest patient with me."

The doctor backed away from Adrian cautiously, slowly turning his head to look at Pam.

"And who's this?" he said, pointing at Natalie accusingly.

"Another new temp nurse," was the reply from Pam.

At the sight of the body on the gurney, Monk's shoulder twitched as he looked revolted, and he walked out of the cadaver room into the hallway. Pam and the doctor exchanged confused glances as Natalie took off after him, fearing the worst.

"I don't want him in here," he heard the doctor say, as he fled from the room. "He seems… unstable."

Monk reached the corner and sank down to the ground for the second time that day, his head between his legs. _Why did I act so completely out of line? That's not like me to do something so stupid… and reckless. I—but Natalie—she pulled up my shirt. Everyone saw my—my chest, and my back, and—she did—and then she sneered at me._ _She sneered, like she was proud. But why the hell did I blow up on that doctor? I _have_ to get back in that room—I have to do my job. _

As he sat, staring at the linoleum, Natalie appeared before him, and squatted down to be at his level. He didn't look up.

"Adrian, I know you're angry at me and you have every ri—"

He could feel his legs beginning to shake again. The shaking would soon overtake his whole body, _that_ he knew. He had to get away.

Without saying a word to Natalie or looking at her, Adrian stood up promptly, almost _robotically_, and stepped around her to go back into the morgue. The pathologist was standing by the door.

"I don't want you in here," he told Monk coldly, barring his way into the room. "You look like you're about to explode. You need to calm down."

Even though the shaking had returned, Monk was no longer in the enraged mindset, and it showed.

"Please, doctor. I'm sorry for how I acted. I've calmed down—"

"Your arms and legs are shaking," the doctor said, indicating Monk's tremor.

"It's just because I'm—cold." He folded his arms across his chest, rubbing his arms with his hands. "What _is_ the thermostat set at down here, anyway?"

Pam suddenly appeared, flashing Monk a look of fear.

"John, please, I just want to explain some things to him. He's had a terrible day."

"Oh, really?" John said indignantly, crossing his arms, glaring at the detective.

"Yes." He paused, watching John's face curl into a scowl. He had to think fast. "My wife was murdered…." Monk began, intertwining his fingers.

The doctor looked interested.

"Murdered? When?"

"Nine years ago," the detective responded.

Natalie listened to the conversation from a spot around the corner of the hallway.

_He is so screwed. Pretty soon he's gonna admit her name, and then it'll be out there that he's not an employee here. What if that doctor is involved with the murder plot Sharona's proposing? Exposing himself as an investigator is not going to get him access to what he needs to see, and then everyone involved can get away. Why did I have to piss him off? It's my fault. I need to get a hold of somebody who can help me…._

As Monk and Pam continued to plead with the pathologist for access to the cadaver room, Natalie snuck into the janitor's closet and shut the door, pulling her cell phone out of the pocket of her scrub pants.

The phone at Captain Stottlemeyer's desk in the San Francisco Police Department rang continuously until it was transferred over to his personal cell phone, which he answered immediately.

"Hello?" she choked out quietly, fear building in her as the pathologist's voice echoed through the hallway.

"_Hello, uhh, who's calling?_" the captain asked, his deep voice sounding a bit agitated.

"It's Natalie Teeger," she replied weakly. "I'm in New Jersey—with Monk."

"_What's the problem? You sound like you're trying to keep quiet._" His voice sounded strangely shaky. This wasn't like him. Disher watched him carefully from across the room, dusting the paper for prints as he sat at Monk's desk. The intruder had been smart—he had worn gloves the entire time.

"_Everything's_ going wrong, Captain. You have to fly out here right away. Adr—Monk has gotten himself in quite a situation here—we might not get to look at Mrs. Fleming's body—he's fighting with the guy in the morgue right now—and—"

"_Listen, something bad happened back here, and I shouldn't leave until everything's back in place and solv—_"

"Captain, you have to help us!" she cried in a loud whisper. "Monk—he's—his mind is really unstable right now…. I've never seen him so close to just—snapping. Please, Captain!"

"_Monk's not around, is he?_"

She gave the phone a confused look. "No, why?"

"_The 'something bad' that happened here had to do with Monk._"

"What? Oh my God, what!" Panic rose in her throat.

"_His house was broken into and a lot of stuff was destroyed, and there was—Well, the point is, the guy got away, and we have no idea who would have done something like this. Listen, Natalie, you _can't_ tell him about this. If he's as unstable as you say he is, he could snap at hearing about his house._"

He hadn't the heart to tell her about the message about Trudy. Monk couldn't know about this—just yet. _He_ was still letting it sink in. They _had_ to solve this crime—just _had_ to, or at the very least completely fix the apartment, before he returned home. It would kill Monk to see the destruction _and _the note.

"So, can you come out here, Captain? Monk's world is falling apart. You have to help him…."

"_I would if I could, but we have to figure out who trashed—_"

"Believe me, it's a _lot_ more urgent out here. He's on the end of his rope right now, screaming at a pathologist. He almost passed out in the elevator. He won't talk to me…."

"_Why not?_" his deep voice rumbled.

"I really ticked him off, and until now _I've_ been angry at _him_, but that's another story altogether…."

"_Where's Sharona?_"

"She dropped us off to work undercover at the hospital. She had to blackmail someone to get us in here. Since then, things have been going from bad to worse…."

Things sounded very bad. _Not only is Monk's mind deteriorating, but his relationships are deteriorating too…. That's definitely not a good sign…._

"So are you flying out here then, Captain?" Natalie asked, feeling an urgency to get an answer.

"_I—well, I—uh—if I leave, Natalie, they're gonna put Monk's break-in on the back burner, and you probably don't want th—_"

"Will you consider it, though? We really need you…. But please, please don't tell him I called. He can't know."

He felt trapped, but there were things he needed to attend to. Before Monk comes home I have to get things straightened out. _I actually _watched_ the man run away, and didn't let Disher shoot him._ _Quite possibly the man who murdered Trudy, and I let him get away. I destroyed any hope of catching him by forgetting that Monk wasn't home, and I didn't let Disher gun him down. It's _my_ fault that Monk's wife's murderer is still at large. My fault…._

mmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Monk walked away from the closed door of the morgue, his shoulders slumped. The pathologist had refused him, locking the door on him, allowing only Pam to help transport the body. _I don't blame him_, he mused. _I _did_ act like a complete psycho._ _Maybe, just maybe, he'll be off-duty soon though and we can get in there…. I can start over, introducing myself correctly, with another doctor. _He glanced at the chart on the wall indicating the room and the attending physicians. Dr. John Marcovsky was the only man listed. _Not even a nurse, or anything. What's wrong with this place?_ His mind was spinning. Things were reeling out of control. _Oh, God, and we can't even ask someone _else_ to let us in, because he's the guy that the desk lady knows—the guy she's having an affair with. Maybe she told him to watch out for us…._ _Maybe it's not my fault—oh, who am I kidding; it's all my fault!_ He had to go home.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the captain's number. The captain answered his cell phone, having just gotten off the phone with Natalie.

"Captain, I can't take it anymore," he blurted, after hearing the captain's wavering hello. "Everything is just—it just—fell apart—and I—I can't do this anymore. Can you call the New Jersey airport for me?"

"_Monk._" The captain stole a nervous glance at Disher._ "Why?_"

"I'm coming home…."

_Oh no,_ the captain screamed in his mind. _He can't—he just _can't_ come home yet. Not until this whole mess is figured out. I can't let him do this. He's gonna go insane. I have to stall him—but how?_

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**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	14. An Opening In The Case

Author's Note: I'm sorry ahead of time for this ridiculously long chapter. I'm trying to tie things together and get back on the track of Mrs. Fleming's case, so this chapter will do that. Please let me know what you think, because I'm starting to tie up loose ends... I'll respond to your reviews soon! I won't forget!

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_Oh no,_ the captain screamed in his mind. _He can't—he just _can't_ come home yet. Not until this whole mess is figured out. I can't let him do this. He's gonna go insane. I have to stall him—but how?_

"_Sharona's depending on you, Monk. You can't just leave without trying._"

"Wow."

"_What?_"

"That actually just made me feel ten times worse."

The captain felt panicky. He had to make Monk a deal that he couldn't refuse, but he just couldn't leave San Francisco yet—not until some sense was made out of what had happened to Monk's house—and Trudy's case.

"_Monk, how about this? I send Disher out there to help you."_

"But how? There's nothing anyone can do. I'm barred from the morgue, her body's gonna be brought to the funeral home today, and I haven't gotten any solid leads or anything. And to top it all off everyone hates me."

"_What are you talking about? No one hates you. How could anyone hate you?_"

"Oh, they do, and they all have perfect reasons. I just need to get out of here, Captain. I've screwed up everything."

"_Let me send Disher out there, okay?"_

"Wait—why can't you come too? What's Disher going to do?"

"_Listen—I'm still working on a case here—but I'll be right out as soon as it's solved._"

"Captain—"

"_Please, promise me you'll stay out there_…"

"But what's the big deal if I come home? I can help you with the case—"

"_No!_" Stottlemeyer blurted, sounding a bit too forceful. He had to explain himself before Monk began assuming things.

"_What I mean is, it's already on its way to being wrapped up. There's no use for you flying all the way here just to get the tail end of it._"

"So what exactly's going on?" Monk asked, suspicion in his voice. "And why are you doing this for me?"

"_Well, I'm going to send Disher out there today, and I'll fly out there soon. I'm doing this for you because I _don't_ hate you, and I want to help you._"

Monk leaned against the wall, shaking his head. "I don't deserve help."

"_Yes you do. I'm gonna buy Disher's ticket after I get off this line, so you _better_ not plan on coming home. Sharona is depending on you, Monk. Are you gonna stay out there and wait for him to arrive?_"

Monk paused a moment. Was it worth staying, even though everything could deteriorate _more_ before the lieutenant arrived?

"_Please say yes, Monk. It's the least I can do._"

_At least _someone_ isn't angry at me_, he mused, suddenly seeing Natalie emerge from the janitor's closest. _Wait-what the hell is she doing in there? Was she trying to hide from me? Does she actually think I'd _hurt_ her? I've calmed down—completely, now. She knows me better than to think I'd blow up at _her_…. Right?_

"_Monk?_" the captain's deep voice rang into his ear, startling him.

"Okay, yes…."

Stottlemeyer let out an inaudible sigh as he flashed the thumbs-up to Disher. The conversation ended shortly thereafter, with Monk staring down Natalie blatantly as he closed the phone.

Natalie watched Adrian hang up his cell phone as she was caught climbing out of the janitor's closet. _I didn't want him to see me in there_, she mused, feeling stupid. _I wonder who he called. Has he calmed down enough to for me to talk to him?_ Suddenly reality set in. _He probably called Sharona, that's what he did. Probably telling her about me—that's why he looked so startled when I appeared._

Pam showed up with the empty gurney, and Monk stole a brief glance at Natalie before he could say anything to Pam.

"He's not letting you guys in there," she told the detective.

"Does he have the authority to do that?" he replied.

"He's the only one, besides the custodians, with a key to the morgue."

Suddenly Monk had an idea. Maybe all wasn't lost.

"When does he get off work?"

"Five o' clock."

He looked at his watch, sighing.

"Another four hours," he murmured sadly.

The two women headed for the elevator, with Natalie turning around to wave him onward.

"Wait—where are you going?" he asked them, seeming troubled.

Pam turned around. "Back up to the cardiac floor. Aren't you coming along?"

He shook his head. "I'm taking the stairs." Before either woman could respond, he made his way for the nearby stairwell.

_This is the perfect time to follow him and apologize_, Natalie mused. _We'll be all alone…._

"Pam," she said quietly to the nurse, "I'm going to go up the stairs with Mr. Monk. He still seems really angry over what I did to him."

"Those stairs aren't really used by anyone anymore, so he might be a bit grossed out by the lack of daily cleaning. You have a long walk ahead of you, so I'll see you guys later," Pam said half-laughingly.

As Adrian let the stairwell door shut behind him, Natalie grabbed it and yanked it open. He didn't slow down, however, even though she knew damn well that he heard the door open back up again as well as its second slam closed.

Picking up her pace, Natalie caught up with Adrian on the stairs, and dashed in front of him, stopping him before he could reach the landing above. She feverishly glanced both above and below her position on the stairwell to ensure that no one was around to hear her.

She studied Monk's face—he was purposely avoiding looking at her, instead looking for an exit around her. This was now a standoff, and she was going to win. She was going to either make him say something or look at her, and only then would she let him proceed.

The pair stood on the stairs for what seemed like five minutes, Adrian becoming increasingly more tense and jumpy, as his eyes darted around the barriers that were his assistant's arms. Finally he looked up at her with half of a scowl.

"Natalie—just—let me pass," he said, attempting to squeeze underneath her arm—unsuccessfully.

"Listen, Adrian," she said, nervousness abounding in her but kept safely hidden from her employer. "I am so_ very _sorry for what I did to you in the elevator. That was completely unacceptable and I apologize for any embarrassment I caused you. Can you _please_ try to forgive me?"

"Why?" he mumbled gruffly, looking at the ground as he kicked a pebble off of the stair, falling to the stair below.

_Wow. Unexpected response. Of course, he's cooled off a lot since it initially happened. I thought he was going to kill me. Well, even so, I have a completely rational reason for why he should just let this go…._

"Okay, well, for one, I'm here alone with you, far from home and _completely_ out of my element, all the while you and your old assistant exchange your—"she cringed, remembering the morning "—_memories_ and all, and I feel completely left out. I'm also confused as hell." She lightly slapped his arm, causing him to look up at her with a completely non-angry expression—practically a sheepish one. "You really scared me in the elevator, Adrian. You were turning _blue_. You would have passed out—right onto that corpse, by the way—if I hadn't _made_ you start breathing again. I'm very sorry for how I handled it, but it was the only way I knew how. I'm sorry." She crossed her arms, awaiting his response.

Natalie watched Monk swallow and let out a long slow breath as he seemed to study her for some reason. He was looking at her very strangely, searching her face for _something,_ and it was making her uncomfortable. But would he forgive her?

"—So, can we just put this behind us and pretend it never happened?" she said hastily, snapping him out of the reverie.

He blinked a couple of times, peeking down the stairwell with a small cringe.

"Yes," he said, guilt written all over his face, looking back at her, but not exactly making eye contact. _Now _he_ was feeling guilty?_

The detective squeezed past Natalie, rubbing fully across her side as he did so. Now that they weren't at such odds, it was okay for him to make contact with her again, it seemed.

_I have to tell her. I just—this guilt, it's like she already knows or something. Just the way she said 'memories' seemed too—too _knowing_. How can I tell her? It was easy for her to apologize, even though I've really resistant this whole time. Why was _I_ being resistant though, when _I_ did something ten _times_ worse? And she's confused too. It's because she knows, I know that's what it is… right? I still should tell her what happened, and explain myself… but how?_

Instead of stopping and confessing, Monk continued up the stairwell, realizing they still had eight flights to cover before reaching the cardiac floor. _That's a long time for an uncomfortable silence_, he mused.

"Oh, wow, there's eight more _floors_ before we get there—can't we just take the elevator?" he heard Natalie say in a whiny tone.

He turned around, a finger poised. "I've had to walk up _fifty-two_ flights of stairs before, so this is nothing." Before he could glance at her face, reminding him of everything he had done, he turned back around, adding "it's a good cardiovascular workout."

"When did you have to do _that_? It wasn't when I was around, was it?"

"No, it was on a date—I mean, uhm—" He immediately regretted mentioning the word 'date' for it again threw his infidelity up in his face.

"A date? _You_ were on a date?" he heard Natalie interrupt, gaining on him on the stairs.

He stopped abruptly on the next landing, a wipe in his hand seemingly appearing from out of nowhere. There was a bright orange sticker on the ground crumpled into a ball and he picked it up with the wipe and examined it.

"Natalie—help—" he said, waving his free hand wildly in her direction as he stared at the sticker.

"What? Do you want me to unfold it?" she asked.

He handed her the crumpled ball without another word.

"Wow, it's still really sticky," Natalie commented, getting the goo on her fingers as she attempted to pull apart the crumpled sticker. "I guess the gunk from these stairs hasn't stuck all over the sticker part yet."

Monk was taken aback and threw the wipe at her hands, disgusted by the sight of the sticker goo. She attempted to scrub the tips of her fingers off with the wipe as she finally got the sticker opened up to read it. It was a nametag.

Before she could read the sloppily written name, Monk took the sticker off of her with another wipe-covered hand.

"Oh, God, how can someone get away with writing this sloppily?" he said in horror, trying to decipher the name. "Wait—it looks like it might start with a T—or an F—or an upside-down L," he commented, showing Natalie the handwriting.

"Looks like it might end with an r," Natalie pointed out, noticing the cursive lower-case _r_ shape at the end of the word.

"Wait—could it be Trevor?" the detective asked aloud, scratching his head. It looked quite possible. He snapped his fingers together, producing a confused face from Natalie.

"Baggie, baggie," he urged. "This could be evidence. It's still sticky, so it's probably fairly new. Probably less than a few days old, since it hasn't been cleaned up."

"Pam said that the stairs aren't cleaned very often because no one takes the stairs anywhere," Natalie commented, hoping to clear things up.

"Well, if that is true, then the—" he cringed "—the sticker goo should be covered with dust and everything else that's been lying on the stairs."

Natalie pulled out a small transparent biohazard bag she had stowed in her scrub pants and held it open. However, instead of dropping the sticker into the bag, Monk covered his mouth with his sleeve and took several steps away.

"Wh—why—what possessed you to open a _biohazard_ bag?"

"It's brand new," she said soothingly. "I got it from the room Donna and I visited, near the sharps box."

"_Sharps_ box?" He seemed confused by the name. "Wait—how would you know that baggie is new?"

"You know, the box that holds—um, _sharps_. And it's brand new; it came off a roll."

He continued up the stairs wordlessly.

"What about that date, Adrian? Tell me about it. Are you being serious?" Natalie prodded.

Monk seemed a bit offended, for she noticed he had squared his shoulders and had picked up his pace a bit.

"Don't you believe that I could go on a date?" he replied, keeping his gaze ahead.

"Yes—of course I do—but it's just—was it an _official_ date?"

"We're not official," he blurted out, immediately regretting what he had said. Natalie was taken aback yet didn't want to show it.

"I know," she stated. "That's not what I was talking ab—"

"I kissed her," he interrupted, refraining from looking at her and continuing to ascend the stairs.

"Who? Your date?"

"No."

She was confused. _Is this his idea of a confession? _Now_ what am I supposed to say? I don't want to drag it out of him because he's right—we're _not _official, and he can do and not do whatever he wants to—do…. Yeah, that makes sense…._

"You met someone _else_ on the date and kissed them?" she said, thinking she sounded a bit nosey. _That's it. I'm not saying any more._

"No—it's not that—it's—well—it's—" He let out a big sigh. This was hard for him to say. Breathing was becoming difficult to do. The stairs weren't making his heart rate increase; it was this whole situation that was unfolding here.

"—I kissed Sharona," he stammered, as she watched his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he was taking. He couldn't turn around; instead forcing his legs to move him forward and keep from looking at whatever expression Natalie could have had.

"Okay—" she replied, leaving it as an open-ended phrase, hoping that perhaps he'd fill her in with something she _didn't_ already know about the two of them.

"That's _it_?" he said, managing to stop and face Natalie. Her response was unexpected and very anticlimactic, and it bothered him. "Wait—did you already—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me if you don't want to," Natalie replied, stopping on the stair and studying his face intently. "You said it yourself—we're not official, so we don't h—"

"—But I _do_—and—well—" he wrung his hands, glancing nervously around him for any sign of life besides the blonde standing in front of and slightly below him. "The thing is—_she_ did it first, but—uh—I didn't resist—but—it didn't—and it wasn't supposed to _mean_ anything, you know? I guess it was kind of a thank-you, uhm, thing, and well, even though we're—you and I—aren't official, it's not what I do—"

Both Natalie and Adrian could feel a burden lifted off of their shoulders by the confession, but now the subject of a relationship had been brought up again. Things were still uncomfortable, although not quite as horrifically stressful as it once was.

Thankfully, Adrian's phone rang, and he immediately grabbed it and opened it up, just as happy as Natalie was for the interruption.

"Hello?"

"_This is Lieutenant Disher_," the man on the other end of the line said. "_I'm at the LAX right now, getting ready to fly to Jersey. You're still there, right?_"

"Yes," he said, looking at Natalie.

"_Okay, because the Captain wanted to know before he buys the ticket—I'm gonna fly first class! Isn't that awesome?_"

"You're flying first class?" He remembered the first class passengers from the earlier flight, and how Natalie had defended him against all of them, on their flight to New Jersey. Hopefully Disher wouldn't be influenced by all the riches and fame around him….

"_Yeah, coach was full, so first class is all that's available._" He spoke in an excited whisper. "_You won't believe it, Monk—I think Cher's on my flight!_"

"Wait—did you say _share_?"

"_Cher—the singer. You've never heard of her? She sings that 'Believe' song, you know, 'Do you believe in life after love—_'"

"_Monk,_" the captain said, grabbing the phone off of a singing Disher, "_You're gonna stay put for now, right?_"

The detective could still hear the lieutenant in the background sounding strangely robotic, as Stottlemeyer tried to shush him.

"Yes, I'll stay here. When are _you_ going to fly out here, Captain? Aren't you com—"

"_I'll be out soon,_" he promised. "_Disher should be there by—_" a pause as he probably checked his watch—"_four o'clock—oh wait—_"

Another long pause.

"_I'd say, probably around seven o'clock for you guys, since you're in another time zone. Eh, bank on eight. Have Sharona pick him up at the airport—will you two still be working then?_"

"Probably not at the hospital," Monk replied. "I think I may be on to something, but I still can't be sure it's murder yet."

"_Good job. I knew it'd happen sooner or later. Let me know if you need anything, okay?_"

"Okay."

The two men hung up shortly thereafter, Natalie and Monk proceeding up the stairs in silence the rest of the way to the cardiac floor.

Once they had returned, Monk went directly to the room that Cheryl Fleming had stayed in, and grabbed 3 pairs of latex gloves.

"Here, help me put these on, Nat—" he said, suddenly panicked that her code name might be different than her real name. She sensed this fear, and whispered back to him.

"It's okay, you're right," she said, pulling the first pair of gloves onto his hands.

The second pair of gloves was much more difficult, and the third pair of gloves was practically impossible to slip over the surfaces of the previous two gloves.

Donna suddenly appeared in the doorway. "What are you two doing?" She noticed the thick gloves over Adrian's hands. "Why all the gloves?"

Adrian spoke up. "We were just—uhm—" he looked over at the sleeping patient in the room, then back at Natalie. "The thing is, I have to _ensure_ that I'm definitely not allergic to this type of latex, and so I'm testing it with several layers of—"

"Uh, okay then." She turned her gaze to Natalie. "Ms. Teeger? We're going to be setting a patient's IV soon, if you'd like to help…."

"I'll be there soon," Natalie said, smiling at the woman. Donna didn't move from the doorway, probably expecting her to follow right away. "I just want to be here in case he _does_ have an allergic reaction, so I can pull the gloves off."

"Okay," Donna said, turning to leave the room. "I'll be on the other side, room 714."

Monk walked over to the sharps box, grabbing the edge of the red bag inside with the tips of two thickly gloved fingers. At the sight of a large biohazard symbol and the tip of a syringe poking through the bag, he abruptly let go, allowing the bag to fall back inside the container.

"Oh God…. It's all over me!" he shrieked, backing away from the box. "I can feel it, soaking through the gloves…."

He ran over to the sink in a feverish frenzy, turning on the taps with his wrists and allowing steaming hot water to flow over the gloves until the skin beneath began to show up red through the three layers of latex.

"Adr—Mr. Baska!" Natalie corrected herself, rushing over to his side. "That's just going to make it worse, if you actually _had_ gotten biohazardous materials on your hands."

"What are you talking about? I touched the bag, you saw me! It's everywhere!"

"You don't think that boiling hot water won't make that latex break down?"

He shot her a glance of death, then of absolute panic. "Quick, get them off me! Why did you let me do—"

"What could possibly be in that box that's that biohazardous?" she asked him quizzically.

"Used _needles_!" he shrieked. "Poking _through_ the bag, for God's sake! The _second _on my list of phobias, only under germs!" Panic rose within him. "How much _more_ am I going to have to _take_ today?" He flashed a disgusted look towards the hallway, then to the sharps box. "Let's see, germs—check! Needles— check! Germs _on _needles—_another_ check! Milk, probably soon, I'm sure. Death—check! Snakes, mushrooms, heights, crowds… Oh yes, and elevators—along _with_ germs _and_ death, check!"

He turned off the faucets, instead trying to use them to peel the gloves off of his skin. Natalie watched him with a new respect—_he's been through a revolting amount of phobias today and is still somehow able to breathe. Impossible things are happening every day._

Suddenly Gary appeared in the doorway. Natalie prayed that he hadn't heard Monk's phobia list along with the accompanying shrieking and general air of panic from her employer.

"Hi Gary," Natalie said, looking over at the man, a confused look on his face.

"What's going on here?" the nurse commented, watching monk attempting to use the faucet to peel the gloves off.

Natalie's mind raced, spitting out the first excuse she could think of.

"He's trying to get the gloves off. I think they're giving him hives," she said, indicating his scratch-like motions against the metal faucet.

Gary understood, and immediately rushed to Monk's side. Before Monk could yank his contaminated hands away from the nurse, Gary expertly pulled all three pairs off the detective's hands and threw them in the trash disposal.

"You can't take too much time when you have an allergic reaction," he said, noticing the bright redness and warmth of Monk's hands due to the boiling water. "Oh, wow, you're really allergic. What kind of gloves did you have to use at your former clinic?"

Monk was obviously stumped, but tried his best not to show it. "Rubber," he said, remembering the yellow elbow-high gloves he used to clean dishes and flatware.

"Oh, well, let me find you a pair of those. You're gonna need some calamine lotion too, or at least some Benadryl. Some things you really shouldn't touch without nonporous gloves, and well, latex isn't good for that kind of thing either."

"Wait—latex isn't nonporous?"

"No, it's porous. You really should only touch surfaces that you know are not contaminated when you're wearing latex gloves—and definitely not infected patients or body fluids."

_Oh my God_, Adrian's mind screamed as his vocal cords threatened to follow. _I'm doomed. I've been killed by my own ignorance. How could I not know something like that? I'm losing my touch, and now I'm going to lose my life…._

Gary left the room, as Adrian yanked the faucet back on and scrubbed with the antibacterial soap until his hands were raw and in some spots, bleeding.

"Stop it!" Natalie yelled at him, once she had seen what he had done. "Now you can't touch anything!"

She looked around the room and found a stack of paper towels. Grabbing a handful, she used the thick wad of towels to pull the biohazard bag out of the sharps box. As Monk gaped at her in horror, she grabbed another handful of paper towels and held the biohazard bag open for him to look into it. Instead of looking at her, he began opening all the cupboards, seemingly searching for something.

Just before Natalie could ask him what he was doing, the detective grabbed a sterile surgical mask in a sealed plastic bag from the cupboard above the sink and tied it around his head, and only then would he approach the wide-open bag. Inside were lots of large syringes with sharp, thick tips, and one small, out-of-place syringe lying on top of the pile.

"Strange," he commented, his voice muffled through the mask, as he noticed the lack of any other small needles.

"What is it?" Natalie asked, obviously confused. She wasn't about to put her exposed face over the top of the sharps bag.

"There are tons of big needles, but only one small one on the top. There's nothing else like it in the bag."

"Are you going to take a closer look?" she asked him. He gave her an incredulous look.

"And die? I'll pass," he said, cringing and taking a step away.

"But what if it has to do with the case?"

"I doubt it."

"I'm thinking that you _hope_ it has nothing to do with the case, because you don't want to mess with it."

"Exactly. Just—put it back where it was before he gets back here."

Instead of doing that, however, Natalie released her grip on one side of the bag and used the wad of paper towels in her other hand to pull out the small needle, finding it easily with only one fleeting glance into the bag. Monk made his way back to the sink, backing up the entire way with a look of complete terror in his eyes.

Natalie placed the biohazard bag back into the sharps box, and with one fluid motion, threw away the wad of paper towels she had been holding and grabbed a mini biohazard bag from the roll next to the sharps box. Effortlessly she dropped the tiny syringe into the bag and sealed it across the Ziploc seal. All the while it was obvious that Monk was gaping at her, even though his mouth was covered by the mask. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head.

The assistant realized that Monk would never go for one bag holding such a contaminated item, so she placed the used needle in three biohazard bags to make an even four. It was then that Gary returned with a pair of rubber gloves and a couple of Benadryl pills in a pill cup, and saw that Natalie was holding some kind of syringe in a series of transparent biohazard bags.

"What's that you're holding?" he asked the blonde, approaching her steadily as he set the gloves and the cup down on the counter by the sink. She froze, unsure of how to explain herself.

Monk stepped forward, pulling off the surgical mask.

"After you helped me get the gloves off, I almost stepped on it—it was lying on the floor. We would have put—"

"How odd," he said, moving toward the baggie. "That's not a syringe we use in this hospital."

"How do you know that?" Natalie piped up.

"It's—nothing that I recognize. The graduations on it are different and it's a smaller size, so it's from a different company. Our hospital only orders from certain companies, and I know this syringe isn't from any of them," he said, indicating the needle.

"Well, what do you think that means?" Monk asked him.

"It probably means that a patient who was here may have had a condition, like diabetes, and brought along his or her own needles upon arrival to the hospital. That would also explain why you found it on the floor. Nurses know to dispose of the used needles in the proper receptacle." He pointed to the sharps box.

"Does this woman have diabetes or something like that?" Natalie asked.

"No, it's not on her charts," Gary replied. "I'm surprised you found it lying on the floor. Orderlies are always in the rooms cleaning. I should report this—"

He fled the room quickly, leaving Monk and Natalie to their thoughts.

"Bag it again—two times," he whispered to Natalie, pointing at the needle as he spoke, "—and bring it with us. I think that needle is going to tell us whether or not this was a murder."

"But who's going to test it? Shouldn't we know what was in it?"

He smiled at his assistant. She was really beginning to catch on to the detective way of thinking, and he loved it. She beamed back at him, surprised at his sudden sunny disposition.

"I'm not sure who should test it, but perhaps if we—well, Sharona, or maybe Pam—she should probably take it to the technicians and they could test it for her."

Natalie soon followed Adrian's wishes, tucking the needle away under the sink until he could call Sharona in to retrieve it. No use creating suspicion carrying a needle-shaped lump under one's scrubs all day.

The assistant joined Donna in room 714 to watch the insertion of the IV. She attempted to help out in stabilizing the patient's arm during the intubation, and it seemed to work. During that time Monk stood at the nurses' station, sterilizing the telephone receivers with his wipes before the nurses could answer calls. After a while, Geena, the nurse on duty there, placed her hands on the two telephones nearest to her and shot Adrian a snotty glance.

The next time the phone rang, she was able to pick it up before Adrian could pull it away.

"I _told_ you not to call me here!" she whispered angrily, attempting to move away from Adrian. "Good-bye!"

The conversation was over before Monk had even realized it had begun. She slammed the phone down onto the receiver and flashed Monk a sheepish smile.

"Was that your boyfriend?" he managed to ask, almost, but not quite, flirtatiously.

"No—" she replied hastily. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering." He continued to study her expression, noticing that she was becoming more and more annoyed with him.

"Are you flirting with me, Mister—wait—what was it again?"

"Baska," he replied, wringing his hands and staring at the telephone.

"Mr. Baska," she said, flashing him a kind of smirk, "I'd appreciate if you'd not take such interest in me; it's really startin' to creep me out. And I _do_ have a boyfriend, just to let you know."

His curiosity was piqued. _If the call _wasn't_ her boyfriend, who _was_ it? _

At around 5:30, a safe time to hope that the pathologist had since left, Pam acquired the keys to the morgue from a custodian and stood in the visitation room at the end of the hallway with Monk and Natalie. Most of the other nurses were either on a break or were switching turns, so no one was around to notice the conversation.

"Did you know that Geena has a boyfriend?" the detective asked Pam.

"Actually, I've been wondering about that myself for some time now. She never talks about him, but I _do_ know that he drops her off at work sometimes."

"Do you think it's an employee here?"

Pam shook her head. "I doubt it. She'd probably be gone a lot more if she was with somebody already working here."

"What do you mean, _gone_? She disappears?"

"Well, she'll disappear for ten, fifteen minutes at a time a couple of times a week. No one knows where she goes during those little breaks, but no one thinks to ask her because when she's around, she works hard. Most people suppose that she goes out for a cigarette break, but I've never smelled cigarettes on her. Now, I'm going to head downstairs to the morgue. Just wait a few minutes then head down as well. I don't want all of us to be seen together again, to arouse even more suspicion."

With that, Pam headed to the elevator. Several minutes later Natalie stepped onto the elevator, watching Monk stand motionlessly outside.

"Aren't you coming, Mr. Baska?" she said, beckoning him with a finger.

"I think I'd rather take the stairs," he replied, twitching his shoulder nervously.

"Come on—no dead body, no heavy stuff—it's a whole other elevator!"

Somehow she convinced him to step into the elevator, and before he could change his mind she shut the doors and hit the basement button.

"Now why did you do that?" he chided her, turning his back to the now-closed doors. "I need a _transition_ into using elevators again, like a couple of steps in, then the next day, maybe a couple _more_ steps, then _eventually_ work back up to actually using it. Sudden change is not good for me."

"We don't have time for that," she retorted, crossing her arms. "You seem to be dealing well enough with the change. At least you're not trying to suffocate yourself this time."

"Have you no idea how _harmful _death vapors are? It's the beginning of decompos—"

"_Death_ vapors? You're a _detective_; you're around dead people all the time! What's one more, _without _any bullet or stab wounds like the victims?"

"I wasn't around those victims in a small enclosed _box_," he snapped back. The elevator door opened and a series of nurses entered the elevator. The ride was silent until they reached the floor where the nurses departed.

Once in the basement, the duo entered the quiet morgue, seeing some motion in the freezer room. They approached the freezers, where Pam had pulled out the drawer containing the woman's body, the body and face conveniently covered by a sheet.

"I noticed that there is only one mark on her body," Pam commented, pointing out the inner arm.

"See? This is where her IV was inserted," she said, indicating the rather large but neat hole in the crook of the arm. "Those are the only markings that anyone could find earlier as well."

Monk looked perplexed, and stroked the side of his chin with a hand. "So she died of a heart attack, correct?"

"Well, yes," Pam asserted. "We came into the room to see her thrashing about, clawing at the IV and kicking off the sheets. Soon though it was obvious that she was having problems breathing, and then her whole body went limp and her heart stopped beating. We tried to get the machines to her, but it was too late."

"Wait—so she was _clawing_ at the IV?" He glanced at the body again, then at a nodding Pam.

"Did she pull it out?"

"Yes…. Where are you going with this, Mr. Monk?" the nurse asked.

He pulled out a pencil, pointing out the neat hole. "If she had been clawing at the IV and happened to yank it out, wouldn't the hole be jagged or maybe even ripped? It's pristine; the edges are perfect, see?"

"You're right, Mr. Monk. That does seem really odd. She never even bled from the IV hole. Lots of times, a struggling patient will pull it out and it'll start bleeding—"

He looked over at Natalie, his expression grim. "Sharona was right. Her mother was murdered."

* * *

**Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me.** I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think of the R&R process as a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy 


	15. Fisher and Disher

I'm back on with the story! I will have the next chapter up, the more feedback, the sooner it'll be up! I'd like to have some ideas on what is good/bad and what can be done!

Sorry for the long wait! I hope you get a renewed interest in this fanfic again! I guess all I needed to destroy the writing block was season 5 beginning!

* * *

Natalie looked stunned for a second, realizing soon after that it was _just_ this kind of ambiguous clue that made Monk the best at solving crimes.

The detective continued to speak, noticing Pam's completely confused expression as she tried to determine if he was actually serious.

"Natalie, get out the needle," he said to his assistant, after which she pulled out the biohazard bag containing the needle and 5 other biohazard bags from her pocket. Pam gazed at it with bemusement, barely able to see the needle amidst the labels on the bags. Monk continued.

"We found this needle in the room that Sharona's mother was staying in the night she died—in the top of the sharps box," he said, indicating the needle as he took a few cautious steps away from it. "Gary told us that it's not a needle used at this hospital. Also, the diameter of the tip is much smaller than that of the IV needle, and so the killer removed the IV and injected Mrs. Fleming with whatever is in the needle to kill her. Afterwards, the killer taped the IV needle back on without reinserting it, either in a hurry or unknowing of how to reinsert the IV…."

"Sharona's husband…" Natalie murmured, her face turning pale.

He held up his index finger. "Now, we don't know that just yet, but it's highly possible. He's the only one I can see that would have any motive to kill Mrs. Fleming."

"Well, I'd better call the lab tech in," Pam said, indicating the body. "Maybe he can find traces of whatever was injected."

Natalie held the series of nesting bags out to the nurse, who took it off of her.

"I'll have lab tech run tests on this to determine what's inside," Pam continued. "There's bound to be something left over in the syringe." Pam closed her eyes, her head tilted up at the ceiling, her face twisted into a grimace.

"What's wrong?" Monk asked her, as she opened her eyes and looked straight ahead once more.

"I don't remember the number for Mr. Fisher. I'll have to have a nurse give me the number."

She walked over to the morgue phone and dialed the cardiac nurses' station extension. Monk listened to the conversation as Natalie stood by with her arms crossed.

"Hey, Geena, it's Pam. Do you by any chance know the medical examiner's number offhand?"

"Why?" Monk could hear Geena say.

"Nothing much; to ID a sample."

A pause, as Geena looked up the number and read it to Pam.

Immediately upon receiving the number, Pam called the medical examiner.

"Hey, Mr. Fisher. Is there a way you could ID a sample for me today? It's very important, in the help of solving a murder that happened here at the hospital."

The conversation continued for a minute more, and Pam turned to Monk with a smile. "He says he'll do it. His office is on this floor. Shows how much _I've _talked to him since he moved down here a couple of weeks ago," she said with a laugh.

The trio proceeded to walk to the lab tech's office, where he met them with a smile. "I'll have this to you ASAP," he said.

mmmmmmmmmm

Meanwhile, at home, Sharona was pacing back and forth, extremely curious as to where Trevor was but dreading his return home. He had left hastily and wordlessly after his suspicious morning meeting with her in the bedroom before Adrian and Natalie had arrived.

_Why did I kiss Adrian_, she mused. _Was it because I was sorry, thankful, or just plain nuts? Maybe I've made things so weird now that he won't think to call me if he finds a break in the case. Shouldn't he have solved it by now?_

Suddenly the phone rang. She sprinted over to it from her place in front of the television set.

"Hello?" she said cautiously. Trevor still didn't know that Adrian and Natalie had flown in—hopefully—and it could very well be him calling from some cruise he took off on with another affair.

"_Hello, Sharona. It's me, Adrian Monk_," she heard him mutter quietly into the receiver.

"Yes, yes, I was hoping it was you…. What's goin' on over there? I've been waitin' around all day for news!"

A short pause that seemed like ten minutes passed before Monk answered her.

"_You were right about your mother. She was murdered_," he stated grimly.

"By who?" Sharona blurted.

"_We don't know yet, but it seems that—_"

"Was it Trevor?" she interrupted, in a whispered, yet harsh tone. She glanced nervously around her as she cupped her hand around her mouth speaking into the receiver.

"_Why are you talking like that, Sharona? Is he around?_"

"No, and I don't know where he went. Oh, God, Monk, did he kill my mom?"

"_It's uncertain yet who could have done it. Right now it still could be anybody. Do you keep any syringes around the house?"_

"No, why?"

"_Because we found a syringe in the sharps box in your mother's hospital room, and it's not one of the hospital's sharps. We had the lab tech ID it; it contained succinylcholine._"

"Oh my God," Sharona said, feeling her heart slowing down. She plopped onto the recliner, leaning forward with elbows on knees. "You found the murder weapon—and drug. Could Trevor have—"

"_I think he's going to have to be ruled out, unless he has access to outside syringes. But you'd think, if he was going into that hospital to kill your mother, he'd just use one of their syringes along with their drugs. So, I'd think… it's probably not him._"

"How sure are you that he's not the one? Ninety percent?"

A short pause. "_I'd say 68._"

Sharona leaned back. "That succinycholine—it can induce a heart attack almost immediately upon injection. It's a very powerful muscle relaxant; she didn't need that…. Someone gave her a heart attack—but why? Why my mother? What did she ever do to anyone?"

The sting of tears threatened as she waited for the response. Adrian could sense this, and wanted to steer the conversation clear of this subject, for he couldn't bear hearing Sharona cry again.

"_The lab tech said the same thing, that succinylcholine is able to induce a heart attack. It's been used in previously unsolved murders in the past because it breaks down very well in the body. We're having the medical examiner search for traces of its—what was that word again, Natalie?_"

Sharona heard scrambling around her, the sound of a woman's voice considering aloud.

"Metabolites, Adrian?" the nurse said, not able to wait any longer.

"_Yeah—that's—that's the word. The metabolites. I'll bet they'll be found. Oh, and Disher's flying in tonight. Can you pick him up at the airport?_"

"What—Disher?" she shrieked, taken aback. "Why is _Disher_ coming here?" She remembered the last time she had seen Disher. He had flirted with her, as usual, mentioning his wallet model girlfriend Crystal and she had been completely bored. It was strange not being around cops anymore, like in San Francisco, especially around cops who had such over-the-top theories that it was a wonder they ever earned the rank of Lieutenant. He _was_ still Lieutenant, right?

"_He's flying in—to help._"

"Why not Stottlemeyer too? I thought they were joined at the hip. Do they not work together anymore?"

"_Oh, they do. Apparently Captain Stottlemeyer is working on some difficult case and can't fly out right away. So, uhm, Disher will arrive tonight, probably around 7:30-8:00._"

"Aren't you—you guys—going to be back here by that time?"

Adrian covered the receiver with his hand as best he could without actually making contact with the greasy plastic, which allowed for Sharona to hear him speaking to Natalie.

"_Are we going to be out of here by 7:30, Natalie?_"

"_Why are you asking me?_" she answered. "_You're the detective._"

Sharona rolled her eyes, listening to the banter between the two. _Of course she's able to put up with Monk's kiddiness without sarcasm. He probably looooves that._ _No wonder he's been avoiding me all day. He's not used to actually being put in his place with a little stinging sarcasm. _

"_Uhm_," he said, returning to the phone. "_Yeah, it won't be much longer now. The medical examiner and lab tech have checked the stocks of the succinylcholine in the hospital and none is missing, so…._"

A disgustingly long pause, with not even the sound of breathing from the other end. Sharona concentrated, pushing the phone up against her ear as she waited impatiently.

"So, what? Adrian, please, don't keep me in suspense forever!"

"_We're going to, uhm, have to examine the trash to find the original bottle for the succinylcholine._" His voice was sad, disgusted.

"But that's gonna be like searching for a needle in a haystack! Hospital garbage, Adrian? They don't sort it quite as nicely as you sort your trash."

"_It won't take me much of an argument not to do it. So, you think it'd be—a fruitless effort?_"

"Haven't you found the weird syringe? Isn't that enough?"

"_Alright, you've convinced me_," he said happily. "_I'm not going to look in the trash. Thank you so much, Sharona._" The gratefulness in his voice was obvious.

"But wait—how are you gonna figure out who did it?"

"_Don't worry, we'll figure out something… less… disgusting than digging through medical waste. I'll figure out some way if it's the last thing I do._"

Sharona was overcome with emotion for her former boss, honestly considering risking life, limb, and sanity to find the incriminating container. "Thank you so much for doing this for me, Adrian," she cried.

"_Oh, don't thank me; I'm only avoiding that option for my own health._"

"Do you want me to come help?"

"_Nah, it might make people suspicious. We'll be back there soon enough, and then Disher will be flying in. I do think something is going on up on the cardiac floor. But I don't think they have any idea that I'm not a real nurse…._"

mmmmmmmm

An hour after Sharona and Adrian's phone conversation ended, Trevor stumbled into the house. Even though Adrian had given him a decent probability that he was not the murderer, she still had her suspicions. For one, he was purposely avoiding her, and he was acting strangely uncomfortable when before he was cool and calm. She approached him immediately.

"Trevor," she said, walking right up to him. He seemed to cringe slightly. "What the hell is going on with you? Where did you disappear to today? That said, where were you last night?"

"Which question do you want me to answer?" he said, looking a bit perturbed.

"I think you owe me the answer to all of 'em," she responded. "I'm hurt, my mother is dead, and all you can think about is yourself."

"You're right," he sighed. "Where's Benjy?"

"He's in his room," she replied coldly. "He got home from school late, not that you would know that. Don't try to change the subject."

"I'm not. The truth is, I've been avoiding you because I know Monk is here."

"How could you possibly know that? I took every caution to keep you from knowing that."

"I've never seen the upstairs bathroom so clean…."

"Oh, I don't clean good, is that what you're saying?" Her temper was quickly rising.

"No, it's not that—it's just, you have a broken arm and your neck—was in a brace, and yet the bathroom is spotless? Even more so than ever before? Monk is here, isn't he?"

"Yes he is, along with his new assistant. They are helping me on the murder case of my mother."

"—But I thought your mother had a heart attack—"

"No, it was murder. Do _you_ know anything about what could have happened?"

Trevor turned his face away and looked toward the door, immediately disgusted.

"I know I haven't been the best husband—and son-in-law—but I would _never_ lay a hand on you, or Benjy, or your mother. How can you be so distrusting of me?"

Sharona let out a sharp laugh. "Ya know, even if you were a good husband, the weird pouting around you've been doing have been rousing my suspicions. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not hiding something."

"You think I'm hiding something—but you parade your ex-boss and whoever else through this house investigating a murder you think I'm involved with, you don't even ask me first and _that's_ not hiding something!"

"It wasn't even hiding, Trevor! You were out the door before I even left to pick them up at the airport! How can I hide something if you're not even _around_ to hide it from!" She immediately looked up at the clock upon mention of the airport. "Damn it, I'm late to pick Disher up at the airport! Are you gonna wait here until I get back?"

"You have a _cop_ coming here! Is he going to arrest me or something, Sharona, is that what this is all about!"

"No, he's just coming to help out in the investigation!"

"Is it the one with the moustache—or his sidekick?"

She rolled her eyes. "His sidekick, why do you care?"

"Well, don't expect him to find out anything about this 'murder,'" Trevor snorted.

"You better shut up, Trevor, I swear to God." Her pulse was racing, her palms were sweating, and she could feel the heat rising to her head. Suddenly, her phone rang. It was Monk.

"_Hello, Sharona, it's Adrian Monk._"

"I _know_ that," she stormed.

"_Uhm, it's Disher—_"

"I know I'm late, I got into an argument with Trevor."

"_He's there now?_"

"Yes, why?"

"No reason, really. But, can you pick us up at the hospital on the way to the airport? We're done here for now; there's nothing else to find here today. However, we do have it established that your mother….it's murder."

"Well, that's a start. I'll be right there. Wait outside, so people don't get too suspicious. I'll meet you by the dumpsters."

Natalie and Monk soon walked out to the dumpsters in their scrubs, for Sharona had taken their street clothes back home with her earlier that day.

"I feel stupid," Monk said aloud as they walked around the outside of the hospital.

"Why do you feel stupid?"

"I'm still wearing scrubs. No one is supposed to wear scrubs outside of the working environment, and yet, we are. I'll bet we stick out like sore thumbs."

Once they turned the corner, a cloud of smoke awaited them, along with the fuzzy figure of Geena through the cloud, poking through the biohazardous waste with a stick. At the sight of them, she quickly threw the stick in the waste bin and smoked the cigarette in her other hand.

"What were you doing, Geena?" Monk asked her, noticing her ticked-off expression.

She held up the cigarette, moving it through the air as smoke emanated from it. Monk backed up a few steps. When Monk still continued to watch her for a verbal answer she became uncomfortable.

"Duh, I'm smoking."

"But you usually do that in the stairwell," Monk matter-of-factly stated.

"You've been here one day and you're going to make that assumption? Well, you're wrong, I come out here to smoke."

"You like digging through garbage?" he added.

"Yeah, it's my favorite pastime," she snapped sarcastically. When this appeared not to satisfy the pair, she decided to continue talking. "What are _you_ two doing out here? I thought you didn't know each other."

"We're getting some air," he coolly replied.

Within a minute or so, Geena was done with her cigarette and went back inside, leaving Monk and Natalie to their thoughts.

"Do you think she had something to do with it?" Natalie whispered to him.

"I don't know. But, why would she prod around in the biohazardous waste unless she was looking for something—like the syringe? But—even so, there's no motive for why she'd do something like that. She might just like to, ugh— poke around in disease, while she's standing out here. That also explains why she doesn't smell like smoke after she comes in from smoking, because she's out in the open air. "

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Soon Sharona pulled up in her car, Monk getting in the passenger's seat and Natalie getting in the back seat. "Find out anything since we last talked?" the nurse asked her former boss.

"Well, we don't have a clear picture of who might have done it, but we saw a nurse—Geena—poking around in the trash. Do you know her well?"

"Geena? I only met her once before, and that was when she came and picked me up from the accident. She seems nice; she was very helpful. She wasn't at the hospital when my mother—was murdered."

"I see…." Adrian mumbled, looking thoughtful.

Sharona turned to him, extremely curious. "What are you thinking, Adrian?"

"Well, she was the only one I had any kind of odd feeling about. Maybe it's because she comes across as a bit rough-around-the-edges for someone in the nursing field. I guess we are still on square one."

"You mean, you hadn't proceeded to square two with suspicious people?"

"It was just a feeling, a strange feeling, but once I look at it differently, it'll probably seem completely—different."

mmmmmmmmmmmm

They soon arrived at the airport and Disher was outside the terminal with a suitcase in hand, a baseball cap on his head. If it weren't for the briefcase, Sharona thought, he'd look just like a little boy.

Disher hopped in the car next to Natalie, his blue eyes sparkling excitedly. He greeted Monk and Natalie briefly, and next was Sharona's turn to be greeted.

"Hello, Sharona. I never thought I'd see you again. How have you been—I mean—well, you seem to be dealing—healthily," he said, stuttering all over himself as he searched for the right words.

"I never thought I'd see you again either, Randy. I've been a bit better, now that I have people that actually believe what I've been sayin'!"

He suddenly became very serious. "I don't know, Sharona, your murder theory seems too far out to be true." She turned around in her car seat, almost hitting the brake too hard, and gave him an incredulous look. Disher burst out laughing.

"I'm just kidding with ya, Sharona! Man, you should see the look on your face! Hahaha!"

"If I didn't have a broken arm and broken ribs, Randy, you'd be gettin' hit just about now!" She turned back around and resumed driving with proper brake usage back to her house.

Upon the return home, Sharona noticed that Trevor was gone again, but he had left a note this time: _Dear Sharona, now is not a good time to talk. Give me a call when you're alone and I'll tell you what you want to know. Trevor._

"Ha, he didn't even say '_love_, Trevor.' My marriage is in the pits again, and I don't even want to save it."

"Why would he refer to himself in the third person? Love Trevor. Wait for Trevor," Disher said, giggling.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Sharona retorted.

Monk went to the restroom to wash his hands four times, for he was still disgusted by the sight of Geena poking through the trash, even though it was with a stick. Natalie stood awkwardly near the doorway, watching Randy interact with Sharona, all the while completely ignoring her. She was getting used to this kind of treatment. Sharona told Randy the first couple facts about her mother's murder and her simultaneous car accident.

"So let me get this straight: you left the hospital to go home, collided with a deer and totaled your car, and at the same time your mother is murdered?" Randy asked, curiosity obvious on his face.

"Yeah, well, whaddya think?"

"Did you hit the deer at the precise moment your mother—passed, or beforehand?"

"Geez, Randy, what are you getting at? Looking at the clock was not the first thing I did, but…Why?"

"Well, you said the other deer were staring at you, right— hanging around the road?"

"Uh, yeah…?"

"If you hit the deer long enough before—your mother passed—maybe the vengeful buddies of the deer you killed went back to the hospital and cut the power to something resulting in, well, you know."

She stared at him with mouth agape. Natalie couldn't believe her ears, and soon her brain cells seemed to pop and scream inside her head as they died. Randy gave the nurse a goofy look, which eased into a smile.

"Sharona, I'm just kidding. Who would in their right mind create a theory that far-fetched?"

"I don't know. You, maybe?"

"Hey, I've become more and more competent over the years. I'm really feeling a promotion coming on soon."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, Captain Stottlemeyer sent me out here all by myself to help you guys."

"He's supposed to come out when he's done with whatever he's doing."

Suddenly Randy became serious. "Oh, yeah," he said thoughtfully, his eyes focused in the distance.

Monk finally emerged from the bathroom and stood next to Natalie at her position near the doorway.

"Hey Sharona," he interrupted. "Is there anything to eat? Natalie and I haven't had a bite to eat all day."

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Captain Stottlemeyer sat in Monk's desk chair, staring at the police report with the ugly phrase written across it: I KILLED TRUDY. There was nothing special about the handwriting, no strange curve to it or the markings of an expensive pen. The smell of pickles and ketchup was overpowering. Stottlemeyer went over to open a window, for the headache he had was now thudding.

"Smells like a barbeque gone horribly wrong," he said aloud, glancing over at the stack of ruined Trudy pictures on Monk's coffee table. He noticed the coffee table had been pushed back to be parallel to the couch. The captain readjusted it to be slightly crooked again, the way Monk liked it to be.

A pile beckoned to him across the floor, one that hadn't been fished through, for there were both junk and items to be kept in it. The pile of stuff laying there had probably been created by the person who broke into the apartment, for it was mostly broken glass from Trudy's pictures and stuffing from Monk's armchair, which had a nasty knife gash across the front of it. And of course, the captain noted, the gash wasn't even straight; it was jagged. He squatted down next to it and began sifting through its contents. Tons of black ball-point pens. Monk couldn't stand roller-ball pens because the ink was free to go anywhere.

Soon Stottlemeyer found an empty aluminum can and stood up the pens he was able to find, tops up, in the can. To deal with the glass, he found one of Monk's several garbage cans that wasn't already filled with the shattered pieces of Monk's life, and placed the glass shards into the garbage can. Suddenly something sharp poked him, but it wasn't glass. Using a pen, he cleared the chair stuffing from around it. It was the tip of a needle—a needle full of some clear liquid.

"Oh my God," he muttered. Immediately he called the police station. "Get some guys down here. We got a needle here and I accidentally poked myself with it. Maybe an ambulance too, in case."

The cruisers and ambulance arrived within a few minutes. They collected the syringe and placed it in a series of baggies to be tested for drugs like heroin. Still feeling alright and being the strong cop that he was, Stottlemeyer insisted on taking the squad car to the hospital.

"The sample we found on your finger was identified to be none other than succinycholine, Captain Stottlemeyer."

"That's strange. What does it do?"

"It's a strong muscle relaxant. If given in a high dose, though, it can kill a person. It's not very common for murders, though, even though it's almost impossible to detect in the body. You'll be fine, Captain. Even if any succinylcholine entered your system, it won't do any damage in that amount."

Captain Stottlemeyer walked out to his squad car in a haze, preparing to drive back home. "The intruder was going to kill Monk," the captain said aloud to himself.

mmmmmmmmmmmm

Pizza Hut arrived at the Howe house in 20 minutes, and the group of them—Monk, Natalie, Sharona, Randy, and Benjy—ate in silence for the first few minutes, all the while Benjy watching Monk cut his pizza up with a fork and place bite-size pieces in his mouth.

"Mr. Monk, why are you eating the pizza that way?" he asked the detective, shoving an enormous slice into his mouth all the while.

"Is there a specific way to eat a pizza?" was the reply.

"Yeah. You just—use your hands to pick the whole slice up."

"That sounds barbaric." Monk cringed as he watched tomato sauce slop all over Benjy's chin. A slice of pepperoni fell on the white tablecloth and he jumped up and screamed.

"What? What is it, Adrian?" Sharona asked, beating Natalie to the question.

"Your tablecloth—it's ruined," he cried, picking his Styrofoam plate off the cloth surface.

"No it's not. Sit. Eat. You're starving."

"There's always going to be microscopic pieces of rotting pepperoni between the fibers of your tablecloth, even _if_ the horrifying red stain comes off."

"The key word there is _microscopic_, so I'm not too worried about it, Adrian."

Monk watched Benjy pick the pepperoni off the tablecloth and put it in his mouth. He moaned like an abused dog.

"Adrian, what's wrong?" Natalie said. She avoided the triumphant stare she so wanted to flash at Sharona.

"He just—ate it! He shoveled it from that tablecloth—who knows how many pieces of rotting, germy spit-ups are stuck in the fibers of it—and put it into his mouth!"

"Adrian, you've dealt with lots today: elevators, needles, dead people, germs…. This is much better and safer than all of those things."

"Yes, but _when will it end_?" he cried.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Monk," Benjy sighed, looking down.

"No, Benjy, don't apologize—it's yourself you should be apologizing to."

"Are you saying my tablecloth isn't clean, Adrian?" Sharona piped in angrily. "Just because you aren't around me anymore doesn't mean I can't keep things clean!"

Monk bowed his head; this was an argument he didn't want to enter.

Changing the subject immediately, Natalie began explaining the strange needle and the succinylcholine to Disher, who listened intently, all the while stuffing his face with more pizza.

After dinner, Disher called Captain Stottlemeyer, who had finally went home after the horrific day at Monk's apartment.

"Did ya find out anything more about who might have done it?"

"_No, but what I do know is the person—man—who broke into Monk's apartment knew that Monk was germaphobic. He brought the cans of ketchup and all those pickles with him. Also, he was going to kill Monk. He had a syringe full of succinylcholine._"

"Did you just say succinylcholine?" Disher asked, mouth agape. Monk, Sharona and Natalie ran over to him, their hearts racing.

"_Wait—is Monk around?_"

"Yes, he—it was a nice flight," Randy corrected, trying to sound sneaky.

"_You can't let him know about all this, Randy. He'll die. If he hadn't went to Jersey, he may very well have been killed by this guy._"

"But, Captain—succinylcholine was used to kill Sharona's mother."

* * *

Please review! I'm sorry I was not able to comment on the reviews for last chapter and probably before that as well, but I thank each and every one of you for your feedback! I am sincerely grateful to have received your thoughts and opinions and I hope that you can continue or even begin to tell me your viewpoints! Thank you very much! --Amymimi 


	16. Connections Of All Sorts

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! For those of you that didn't have the reply link, I WILL email you to thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter; it's chock full of Monk characters!

* * *

A sharp intake of air was heard over the receiver. "_You're kidding me. Don't be kidding around with me now, Randy._"

"It's true. They found a syringe today in her room with a trace of succinylcholine, and traces were also found in her body. Captain, could this mean—"

A grunt. "_Don't even say it, Randy. We don't know anything yet. Even if the two cases are connected, Sharona's mother was the target first; she was the person who was wanted dead…. Maybe after the fact, someone warned the Jersey killer about Monk finding out, since she _was_ his nurse's mother, so the killer flew to San Francisco to stop him—but came too late._"

"But isn't it possible that there could be _two_ of them working together?" Disher implored.

Monk stood as close as he could to the lieutenant without breathing any of his air or contacting him in any way. _What are they saying? Two of who? How would _Stottlemeyer_ know anything about the case here?_ _Maybe I'm being paranoid, which is probably right, but I have to know. _He spoke up. "Lieutenant, what—what are you talking about?" The sound of Monk's voice so close behind him made the blue-eyed cop jump up and protectively cover his phone with a hand.

"_Was that Monk?_" the captain whispered harshly into the phone, but loud enough for Disher to hear. "_Damn it, Disher; I thought we were talking in private!_"

Disher turned to face Monk, putting his hand over the receiver, and stealing quick glances toward the kitchen. "Oh, no! I uh—I think I left my suitcase half-open, with all the clothes spilling out of it…. They are going to be _so_ wrinkled for tomorrow."

He was met with a scowl from the detective, who let out a disgusted sigh and disappeared into the kitchen, where Disher had laid his suitcase down. Thankfully for Disher, the suitcase _was_ open, but the clothes had been pre-wrinkled, not wrinkled by sticking out of the luggage.

"What's this all about, Disher?" Natalie piped in, tapping the lieutenant on the shoulder. He turned to her, hearing Stottlemeyer sigh on the other end of the line as he again covered the receiver.

"Why'd you send Monk away like that?" she demanded. "That was really rude of you. What's going on?"

"Natalie—now is _not_ a good time, I assure you," he replied, waving his hands and beginning to walk away from her.

Sharona sprinted ahead and blocked his escape path. "No, she's got a point. What are you talking about with the captain?"

He laughed weakly. "Well, it's nothing that has to do with anything you guys care about, if that's what you're asking." His excuse was pitifully rickety; he could see that already in their unconvinced expressions. Disher looked down at his phone, hearing a faint beeping sound. He put the phone up to his ear, covering the phone fully with a hand as he listened.

"You still there, Captain?" he said in a quiet tone.

The captain stopped hitting buttons to alert his lieutenant, and began talking. "_Yes I am. Have Natalie and Sharona surrounded you_?"

"I'm afraid so," he murmured, eyeing the both of them nervously.

"_Monk?_"

"Uhm, not at the moment, no."

"_Well, you can't lie to them and _only_ mention the syringe in Monk's apartment because they'll wonder how it got there, blah blah blah, but you can't very well tell them how his apartment was destroyed and you-know-what was written._"

"I understand completely, Captain," Disher obediently replied.

"_I'm not finished,_" the captain added. "_If you can get each of them alone, one at a time…tell them to promise _beforehand_ not to tell Monk about it, at least not until I get out there…_ A pause, as Stottlemeyer searched for better words._ "On second thought, tell them not to tell Monk about it no matter what. I really wanna get this figured out while I'm still here. If I sort this all out, I'll tell him _after_ we've caught the guy, so the betrayal of our silence doesn't sting him quite as badly._"

"Good idea, Sir," the lieutenant commented. He watched the angry glares of the two women, and felt a pang of familiarity. This was the usual situation with women he'd meet and flirt with at parties.

Soon the conversation was over between the captain and lieutenant, yet Monk was still folding and refolding Disher's pants and shirts. Natalie went over to him in the kitchen, while Sharona stayed behind to confront Disher.

"Randy, what's this all about?" Sharona snapped, hands on hips.

"Can I talk to you in private?" he muttered quietly to her, putting away his phone.

The two headed upstairs together, Natalie just happening to watch them disappear onto the second floor. She headed toward Adrian's hunched figure, upset with him for giving up. _Why can't he just—ignore those feelings? The most important things have passed him by because he couldn't just—leave something crooked or forget about germs or one of his other phobias, like _height. She scoffed, remembering the end of the plane trip—the bathroom run.

Monk looked up at Natalie from his squatted position by the suitcase, to see her frowning at him.

"What's _your_ problem?" he snorted. "_I_ was the one sent away from the conversation that most definitely was about me. What were they saying?" He somehow pulled himself away from the remaining pair of balled-up socks, and stood facing her.

"Hey, don't look at me. He didn't reveal anything to me or Sharona after you—he sent _you_ away." She shifted her stance, looking exasperated. "I don't get it; how can you just _leave_ like that when you're curious about something?"

"Natalie, don't get me started," he said sighing. "I _saw_ the bag when he walked in—it was probably open the whole way home from the airport, probably got caught on the filthy godforsaken trunk latch of that filthy black car—"

"Uh, so?" She appeared unconvinced.

"I've been thinking about it… all through dinner, even! Except, of course, when Benjy threw me off with the pepperoni…." He shuddered, closing his eyes as the thought caught him.

"So it takes pepperoni on a white tablecloth to redirect your mind?" she retorted. "The thought of someone talking about you—about a crime, about facts you haven't yet uncovered—doesn't?"

"Oh, so he _did_ tell you," Monk snapped. He turned toward the kitchen sink to wash his hands thoroughly, for he did happen to brush against some suspicious articles of the lieutenant's clothing.

"No, Adrian. I'd never lie to you about something like that! It's just—Disher was acting so—so—shady, that I figured it _had_ to deal with you." She crossed her arms across her chest. "Satisfied?"

"Well, I figured the same thing." Met with silence, he turned his head to look at her, starting the hot water blindly in front of him until the hot water scalded his hands and he pulled back instinctively.

"I can't help it, Natalie," he said, voice cracking, as he turned back to face the sink. "It's just… me. I just—get fixated on something—and I can't think until—until it's fixed. _You_ know that." He paused, voice trailing off. "That's why I'll never be back on the force again. I don't deserve to be—the way my mind works." He let his head hang in defeat.

Natalie suddenly felt a surge of pity for the man. _He can't help the way he is. Why did I just rag on him about that so ruthlessly? I can't believe how he just opened his thoughts up to me, _after_ I tried to hurt him._ The blonde assistant came up behind Monk and placed her hand in the center of his back, gently rubbing his back.

"What are you doing that for?" he asked, spinning around until she was right in his face.

"I'm sorry, Adrian. I didn't mean to—" she watched his face, his eyes still sad, distant. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I feel like such an ass," she said, lowering her head and shaking it. She glanced back up at him, watching his features soften to those of mild shock, and continued apologizing. "I should never try to make you feel bad about something you can't help. I'm sorry."

_That actually wasn't hard at all for me to do,_ Natalie thought, as she began to turn away. _I'm usually too stubborn to actually apologize to someone, but I _was _wrong. I really hurt him and incited all those… feelings of inadequacy…._ _There are truly only about a handful of people I can honestly say I've apologized to… and meant it._

_She just—apologized—profusely—to me_, Monk's mind raced, as he struggled to keep his exterior calm. _And she most definitely meant it. But why would she go through all that—for me? _I_ should be the one apologizing to her like that, for lying to her—for making her uncomfortable this whole trip. _

"Natalie—" he began, a bit too shakily for his taste. She turned to face him, surprised but trying hard not to show it.

"I should be the one apologizing—to you," he murmured, an echo of his own thoughts. She shot him a look of confusion. _Ha ha, nice try with the obliviousness, Natalie. I know you've been through hell these past couple of days._

"Firstly, I'm sorry for acting up on the plane." Monk sighed, already feeling better with one apology off his chest.

"In what way?" she asked suspiciously, catching him offguard. _Surely he's not apologizing for the ki—_

"You remember—at the New York airport—I think I made you uncomfortable; I told you about my… well, the way I think—and things were really… odd, and then I ran to the restroom and you had to… sacrifice your dignity to get me out of there, and—"

She shook her head, stopping him in mid-sentence.

"What?" he asked her, confused.

"That's enough," she said softly, looking satisfied.

"I'm not finished," he stated, reinforcing his statement with his hands. His assistant opened her mouth to speak, but soon closed it. Monk continued. "I am really sorry for when we were at the terminal, and I ignored you… and then you got a bad impression of Sharona because of how _I_ acted, not her…." He put his finger to his chin, but before she could stop him continuing, he started again. "I'm sorry for putting you through all the fuss with my luggage—the garbage bags _were_ a good idea—and I'm sorry for making you sleep on the couch while I got Benjy's bed—and I'm especially sorry for—" he looked over Natalie's shoulder cautiously during his apology, lest not to arouse her suspicion—"for kissing Sharona—" a very brief pause, as he caught his breath and let out a shaky sigh—"—and then, to top it off, to let you be confused about it all day and not just tell you—"

A finger to his lips. Natalie's. Obediently, he froze in place, falling silent, gaping inside at the way she was looking at him, but refusing to let his body follow. Surely his eyes had to be the size of dinner plates. He watched her intently for further instruction. She was looking up at him with a little close-mouthed smile. The moment screamed for a "what" to be uttered, but it would certainly spoil her mood, and so he remained silent.

_What is she trying to do to me? She has me under this kind of… spell, this kind of voluntary… obedience. I wonder what she's going to tell me to do, because right now, I don't know what I _wouldn't_ do…._

Natalie spoke up. "Most of that stuff—" she paused, watching his expression turn to that of horror. "—I've already forgiven. However, for one of them you'll have to make amends, and then we'll be square." She gave him a little wink. "Got that?"

Monk was utterly confused. "Amends?"

She smiled. "An act of contrition. Atonement."

He gulped, which was most likely heard by her, for her smile grew larger. His mind was a wreck.

"What do you want me to… to do?" His hands—heck, his _knees_, even his _teeth_ were shaking. All the saliva in his mouth suddenly dried up and his mouth felt cottony. _Does she want me to kill someone for her? Leave Sharona's house forever, and never come back?_ He glanced around him feverishly, noticing something behind her. _Oh, God, is she going to make me eat that leftover pizza that's been sitting on the counter for an hour to prove how sorry I really am?_

He swallowed again hard. _I'd probably do any of those things—even the third one…. I need to release this boatload of guilt of how I've wronged her, which probably weighs less than the discomfort I've put her through these past couple of days… even if it's at the cost of my own nature—of myself._

Natalie grinned an evil little grin, which softened into a simple smirk. She narrowed her eyes at Monk.

"I want you… to…."

Monk almost shut his eyes in his attempt to shield his utter terror, his utter dedication to comply with her wishes, but somehow controlled the urge. Instead, he looked up at the ceiling, and seeing a water-damaged tile, directed his gaze right at her face. A mistake. His knees were weakening by the millisecond…

"Kiss me, Adrian."

Surprise and shock hit him simultaneously as he saw her face come into focus clearly. She was smiling, waiting, readying herself for this act that he would be doing. Paranoia enveloped him. _Is she saying that so I make a fool out of myself, then she'll say, 'I'm just kidding?'_ He blinked a few times, seeing that she was not kidding. Natalie was being dead serious about this. Relief flooded his mind. _Wait—this isn't punishment…._

Without even checking to ensure of Sharona's absence, he leaned in, watching Natalie slowly and gently close her eyes as she craned her neck to perfect the angle. He watched her intently as feet became inches became centimeters became—nothing. His lips met hers… softly, as if he hadn't even made contact… but he had, for the flush of red had now consumed his skin, and his body temperature seemed to shoot up a couple of degrees. A few seconds of the feathery touch, and it was over. He pulled back, watching Natalie open her eyes after a few seconds. The second kitchen kiss involving Adrian Monk.

"You're going to leave it at that?" she commented, trying hard not to smile. He stared at her.

"No."

Both started to lean in, and met in the middle, mouth to mouth, eyes closed—their bodies also moved in, so the contact was truly from lips to hips—he placed his hands on her upper arms, wrapping his fingers behind her back at the angle of her shoulders. She placed hers on his lower back, allowing her fingers to touch in the center of his back. The kiss broke but reunited quickly, as both reset their mouths in the heat of passion, positioning themselves to best emit the emotions from the other, to open up the passage to the other's heart directly and have it spill out through the mouth as words, as more and more kisses—Monk had already allowed Natalie the view of his heart with his confessions of himself, and she wanted to see it _all_, to hear all of his deep feelings and emotions. She was ready to comfort the sadness, ready to support the hopes, ready to congratulate the successes.

_Kissing her feels so right,_ he thought, as the temperature rose between them. He could feel her body up against his own, her hands on his back—but the feeling was not one of guilt, one of unrequited past emotions and unexpected gratefulness—it was a building emotion, one of understanding—of need for this woman, Natalie, in his life.

Natalie's mind raced. _I've fallen for him completely,_ she mused, noting the sensations running through her body as his mouth moved across her own, softly massaging her lips and sending tingles throughout. _I know this… this kiss will have to end soon, but maybe it'll open a door for more to come…._

During Monk and Natalie's encounter in the kitchen, Sharona and Randy had since ascended the stairs to her and Trevor's bedroom, and after she switched the light on and turned to hear his story, he surprisingly shut the door behind them.

"What are you—"

He put a finger to his lips. "Shhh… No one else can know about this," he reassured her.

She tried as best she could to cross her arms, prepared to listen. And to think, she supposed it was his way of hitting on her in some really really forward way.

"So you actually have somethin' to tell me, now, do ya, Disher?"

He looked confused for a moment, but continued. "Yes I do, _Howe_."

A frown came upon her face. "Why'd you call me that?"

"Well, until now you've called me Randy. Why resort to Disher when things were going _so_ well between us?" he asserted jokingly.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile at him.

"Okay, _Randy_, what are you going to tell me?"

He gulped a little, looking back at the closed door behind him, and then averting his gaze to the bed.

"Well, to start off, I—" he wrung his hands, looking like an ashamed little schoolboy. "I've missed having you around—you know, the police station."

She gave him a look of suspicion, and pulled her shirt up as subtly as possible so the neck wasn't hanging quite so low. He blinked a couple of times, probably attempting to erase the memory of that motion.

"I've missed bein' around you too, Randy," she managed to say.

"Uh, so…" he appeared to be embarrassed, but in his attempts to hide it, looked even more foolish. Eventually he gained his composure.

"Yeah, so after Monk flew out here, probably only a few hours after, me and the captain—I mean, the captain and I—drove by Monk's house. A fire alarm was going off—"

Her eyes widened, and glossed over with the beginnings of tears. "Oh my God… a fire…."

"No, no," he chided, nervously. "It wasn't that. We stopped and all, and went up to his door, and found that someone had broken into his apartment—"

"What? His security system is top notch! There's no way that anyone—"

"Well, the guy happened to bypass his security system. I know, I've never seen anyone bypass it—actually, it seems quite bizarre, now that I think about it, because there was a break-in at the pharmaceutical company the very _day_ before that, in which someone bypassed the same type of security system—"

"You're kiddin' me…." She stood there, frozen in her spot. "Did the captain tell you all that?"

"No, I was there, and I saw that it w—" He immediately became suspicious. "What are you getting at, Sharona?"

"I think you just solved the pharmaceutical case, Randy," she said quietly but excitedly. "Or at the very least, found a major break in both crimes."

"You mean, that the guy who robbed the pharmaceutical company was the same guy who robbed Monk?" His eyes glistened as he watched her response to his theory.

She nodded, a smile on her face. Disher paused for a moment, to assess that he might have indeed made a major break in the cases. Soon his ego was back to normal enough to tell the rest of the story.

"So, this guy breaks into Monk's place, and the captain says—it's like he _knew_ what Monk hates. Because he brought big cans of ketchup and jars of pickles and broke them all over Monk's apartment. And ripped up couches and broke pictures and cut crooked lines on his floor and furniture. And then, there's the part that we didn't want to reveal until the captain's caught the guy—"

He paused in mid-sentence, watching her eyes almost bug out of her head as her anxiousness grew with each breath.

"Go on," she whispered harshly, gesticulating with her good hand.

"The guy found the police reports about—Trudy—and he wrote on them."

The lieutenant paused again. Sharona approached and stood right in front of him, less than half a foot away from him. She didn't have to tell him to continue. Randy took a deep breath, attempting to prepare for the reaction.

"He wrote, 'I killed Trudy.'"

Sharona felt faint. "Anything else?" she managed to croak out after a couple of seconds silence, seeing that he still had something else to say.

"He had succinylcholine in a needle and left it on the scene."

Sharona felt so dizzy that she collapsed into Disher, but he deftly caught her in his arms. Nauseated, she looked up at him to see an earnest face.

"You did the right thing," she commented, giving him a smirk of a smile. "Can you walk me over to the bed? I think I'm about to lose consciousness."

"Nah, you're a tough girl," he said, leading her over to the bed. "You're not gonna faint, Sharona. You just need some time to let it sink in."

He sat down next to her on the bed, scooting his butt away from the edge so that his feet were dangling. Sharona stared down at his feet, kicking back and forth, until she felt so woozy that she fell back on the bed, closing her eyes to prevent sight during the fall backwards. Disher followed suit to ensure that she had not indeed lost consciousness, and watched her intently only a few inches away.

The nurse soon opened her eyes to find herself horizontal with Disher, on her bed. He was smiling at her, concerned for her well-being. She hadn't even realized until this moment that Disher hadn't thrown it up in her face, hadn't even _mentioned_ that she didn't even say goodbye to him before leaving San Francisco. Lieutenant Disher, the man whom everyone had branded incompetent. Disher, the man whom she had always sloughed off as a mere sidekick to Stottlemeyer's police expertise. _Randy_, who if she had said goodbye to him that final day in California, with the worry and genuine fondness he was showing for her now, might have stolen her from Trevor.

* * *

I appreciate any and ALL of your opinions/thoughts/questions/suggestions/feedback, so please, please tell me what you think with a review! Otherwise, I won't know what you're happy/sad with, so I can't plan the next chapter accordingly! Thank you very much for reading! --Amymimi 


	17. Where Hunger Will Get You

Captain Stottlemeyer sat in his empty apartment, flipping through the doubles of pictures that had been taken of Monk's apartment. After the police force had straightened up Monk's things and moved them back to where they belonged, he realized that they really should have dusted for fingerprints first. The police force had worn gloves and had dusted some afterwards, but everything was clean. That was all his fault, for not stepping in early and laying out the proper steps. But of course the perpetrator knew to wear gloves, he had immediately assumed. The fact that the intruder somehow avoided setting off the apartment complex's state-of-the-art security system already alluded to how prepared the guy was.

"I just got too close to the case; that's why I didn't follow proper procedure," he mumbled aloud to no one in particular. His wife had since filed for divorce and he had since been working even longer hours just to stay away from his lonely new existence. However, the nausea that plagued him while he was in Monk's destroyed home gave him the incentive to go home and think about the case.

His stomach soon began to growl, as he realized he had neglected to eat all day. This was compounded by the realization that he no longer had a wife to fix him bag lunches for work every morning. Instead, he had been running into coffee shops in the early morning and grabbing the most caffeinated drink there so as to keep him awake all day and cut down his ever-growing appetite.

_I really should be getting back over to Monk's place_, he mused. _I'll just stop somewhere nearby to eat_.

He brought a manila envelope full of the crime scene pictures with him, as well as the limited amount of notes he had taken at the scene. After double-checking that he had his wallet, he got in his car and headed over to Monk's apartment. Soon he was within a couple of blocks of Pine Street.

"Ahh, Tony's Burgers," he said, stopped at a red light near a cozy little fast food place he had stopped at once or twice before. His stomach growled in response, and he patted it. "That's good enough a reason for me to just eat here then," he said, making the turn into the restaurant. He started craving the restaurant's delicious cheeseburgers, and could practically taste them in the air.

After entering the restaurant, Stottlemeyer approached the cash register, staring up at the lighted pictures of food above the register. Before the cashier could approach the register to take his order, he took a quick glance around the place, noticing that there was only one patron present, an old man eating chicken fingers. The cashier stood silently in front of him. Stottlemeyer turned back around, startled that the cashier, a skinny freckle-faced boy of about 16, was already in front of him.

"Kinda empty tonight, eh?" he said to the cashier.

The cashier could only nod half-heartedly and grunt in agreement.

Stottlemeyer fell silent for several seconds, continuing to stare up at the lighted signs.

"May I take your order?" the cashier managed to spit out, all the while looking at the police badge on the captain's jacket.

"Oh, sorry about that," the captain murmured. He straightened his shirt and looked at the cashier. "I'll have two cheeseburgers with everything on 'em, a large order of French fries… and a large Coke." He watched the cashier's hands, expecting to see the kid ringing up his meal, but the hands remained on the counter.

"Is there a problem?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"Uh, yeah, there is. We can only serve plain cheeseburgers." The cashier looked at the police captain, dead serious.

Stottlemeyer could hardly contain a laugh deep within him. "Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded lightly, cracking a grin.

"No, sir. We ran out of condiments."

"_All _of them?" The look on the captain's face was sheer disbelief.

"Well… pickles… mayonnaise… ketchup…. I think we have mustard though."

"How can you be out of all of 'em at once?"

The kid sighed. "There've been a lot of cops eating here the past couple of days, so we ran out quicker than usual. After we ran out of the stuff up front, we didn't reorder right away because we always have a ton more in the stock room. When we went back there, though, to get more, it was all gone."

This roused the captain's curiosity. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"I'd guess it was before all the cops started coming in. Unless someone was brave enough to sneak stuff out of here with cops everywhere."

"Do you know who could have done this?"

The cashier started laughing. "It's kinda funny. All the cops that have been in here since the stuff was taken, and you're the first one to care. Don't worry, though; we ordered more tonight and they should be in tomorrow."

The captain was adamant. "Do you know who could have done this? An employee?"

"Probably," the kid said. "But most of us are just kids and don't have the car to haul the stuff in."

"How much was taken?"

The kid cracked another smile. He couldn't believe how much interest a police officer was holding in their restaurant's petty theft.

"I'm not sure, sir. Let me go get the manager."

The manager, a plump, short brunette woman in her late thirties, arrived quickly, and was taken aback at the sight of the captain of the San Francisco police force in front of the register.

"Hello, Captain," she said, admiring his bushy moustache. She had seen him on the news, but had never actually stood this close to him. And now, he actually cared about the silly little plight of their restaurant?

"Hello. I was wondering about the theft that occurred here," he asked. "Who do you think did it? How much was taken?"

"Well, I'm not sure of who did it. It could have been a present or past employee. It could have been anybody, really. I really don't know."

"What did they take?"

She bent behind the counter and pulled out a clipboard. "Five cans of ketchup, four jars of pickles, and two containers of mayonnaise. We buy in bulk so each one of the things taken was pretty big. I'm guessing it was taken at night, because I'm sure whoever took it had to make a couple trips. Even so, the security cameras caught nothing. Such a waste of money those were…"

A _lead in the case. Surely the man who stole from the restaurant was the same one who dumped it all in Monk's apartment. He couldn't have just bought those items without being noticed… And since he was very good at evading security systems, why not just get the supplies himself, rather than trusting someone else?_

Captain Stottlemeyer had zoned out, deep in thought, but the manager was getting antsy.

"Sir, is there something else you'd like to order instead?" The manager moved closer to him. "Sir—"

"Oof—sorry, I was just thinking. Did you have any last-minute call-offs earlier today? Or yesterday?"

She closed her eyes for a minute. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Why's that? Do you think the person that stole the supplies called off?"

"Do you perform background checks on all your employees, Ma'am?" he asked, a stern look on his face.

"I may, if it seems suspicious, but not usually…." She looked a bit bewildered, wondering why the captain of the police force was so intent on figuring out what happened.

"May I see a list of all the employees that work here?"

"Sir… Captain… I do appreciate what you are trying to do here, but it's really not needed… it's only a couple of…."

"I have reason to believe that the person who committed the theft of the condiments is an ex-con," he said, matter-of-factly, sloughing off the look of utter disbelief from the manager. "Please, let me see the list of employees."

After obtaining the list, the captain returned to his car and contacted the station to have them run background checks on the employees. One of the employees, a stockboy/janitor, wasn't showing up in the background checks. He went back inside the restaurant. The manager looked up expectantly.

"All of your employees are clean," he said, watching her sigh with relief as he handed back the paper, "except for one. He isn't showing up on the background check. A Mr. John Renwik. He is a stockboy _slash_ janitor. Do you have any photographs of him or an address?"

"Hmm… Renwik. I'll be right back." The manager headed back to the break room while Stottlemeyer stood in front of the register, the hunger pangs returning. _Right after I get whatever information I can, I'm going to get some chicken fingers._

"Here we go, Sir," she said, walking quickly toward the register while holding a piece of laminated paper. "Here's his picture." She continued talking as she approached him with the picture. "I doubt he did this," she said, "because he has been a stellar employee since he began working here 6 months ago. This is his 'employee of the month' picture."

As soon as Stottlemeyer saw the picture, he recognized the picture. _Renwik…he's probably already finished his 6-year prison sentence for voluntary manslaughter_. With Monk's help, Stottlemeyer himself had nabbed the guy, after investigating a massive bar fight in which a man had been killed. Monk believed that Renwik had had a vendetta against the victim, but since Renwik's friends were willing to commit perjury, the court determined that the murder had been a crime of passion and thus, voluntary manslaughter.

Renwik knew Monk from this case…. But could he have also killed Trudy?

Stottlemeyer looked up at the manager. "John Renwik is an ex-con, probably just released from prison for voluntary manslaughter," he stated as calmly as possible. The manager nearly fainted.

"B-But how do you know that? You didn't even call anyone!"

"I was the cop who caught him more than 6 years ago." He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Here's my number," he said to the manager, handing her the business card. "If he comes in to work again, don't act like you know anything but give me a call as soon as you can."

With that, he left the building with the picture. Immediately he regretted not picking up chicken fingers.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Monk pulled back ever so cautiously to break the kiss he and Natalie had just shared. Rendered speechless by the uncharacteristic kiss, he flashed her a shy glance as he saw her break into a wide grin. He threaded his now empty fingers together in front of him, just happening to brush against the smooth metal of his wedding ring with his right hand. Suddenly the paranoia, embarrassment, and guilt, a couple of minutes too late, came flooding into his mind and he jerked his head around nervously, as if being watched.

"What's wrong, Adrian?"

The voice of Natalie sounded far away, as a question filled his mind: _Where were Sharona and Randy?_

"Wha—uhm, nothing," he muttered, glancing at her briefly.

"You shouldn't be feeling bad anymore Adrian, you've been absolved." She giggled, reaching out her hand to rub his own.

Adrian smiled at her, though his eyes still looked sad. "I'm glad," he said, allowing the sweaty palm of her hand to touch his own perspiring hands. Something about this all seemed wrong. Randy and Sharona had no reason to go off alone for what seemed like such a long time….

The detective and his assistant had scarcely a moment more to speak, when they heard the approaching voices of Randy and Sharona. They were talking back and forth about their respective jobs, and seemed to be carrying on quite a conversation. By the time the pair was visible at the top of the staircase, Monk and Natalie were far enough apart as not to arouse suspicion of their earlier activity. Natalie glanced over at her boss.

_How can he be so open and sweet, and then shut right off? _she mused. _There seems to be something complicated going on between him and Sharona. I'll wait 'til we're back in San Francisco – or at least on the plane back – before I ask what he's thinking. Hopefully we won't have to be here much longer._

"Where've you two been?" asked Monk, sounding much like a concerned father.

"Talkin'," replied Sharona matter-of-factly, as she descended the last stair. Disher could only blink, in his quest to look as innocent as possible.

"You probably had some catching up to do, I take it?" Monk questioned.

"Yep." Sharona's answer was matter-of-fact. "You two been standing there the _whole_ time?"

"Yep." Natalie replied simply, crossing her arms.

All of a sudden Disher's cell phone rang. He looked at it sheepishly, and then answered it.

"Hello?" he said cautiously into the receiver, knowing that it was Stottlemeyer but not exactly sure yet how he should act.

"_Lieutenant, this is an important matter. I think I may have found a break in the case."_

"Congratulations, Sir," Disher responded, his shoulders noticeably slumping. Apparently the captain had already made the connection between the pharmaceutical company and the apartment break-in.

"_Are you alone?_" the captain asked.

"No."

"_Well, get alone then._"

Disher looked at Sharona, then at Natalie and Monk. "I'm sorry," he said to them. "I have to go take this call." Without another word, he went back up the stairs and down the hallway, into the room furthest away from the stairs, and shut the door behind him.

"Okay, I'm alone," he said, quietly sitting down.

"_Alright. Well, I went to a restaurant today near Monk's place, and guess what was missing?_"

Disher was automatically confused. _What does a restaurant have to do with a break-in or Trudy's murder…_The captain was playing the same game with Randy now, asking a question that should have just been answered then.Before he could say anything, the captain continued.

"_Ketchup cans, Randy. Pickles. Big containers. Just like the ones found in Monk's apartment._"

"That's great, captain! So do you know who the guy is?"

"_Actually, I think I do. I did a background check on all the restaurant employees. Turns out, there's a stockboy janitor by the name of John Renwik that just so happens to be an ex-con._"

"Renwik?!" Disher cried. "They just let him go seven months ago! Voluntary manslaughter, right?"

"_Well, he's been workin' at the restaurant for six months, so that adds up. And yes, voluntary manslaughter,_" the captain continued.

"I still think he got off easy," Randy added.

"_Me too._" There was silence on the other end, following by the rustling of plastic.

"What are you doing now, Captain?"

A sigh. "_Digging through Monk's garbage._"

"Why?"

"_I'm going to find the ketchup cans and pickle jars and ask the manager of the restaurant if that's what they stock up on._"

"And then what?"

"_What do you mean, 'and then what?'_" the captain replied gruffly.

"Do you know where he lives? Can you arrest him?"

"_I want to make sure I can tie him conclusively to the break-in, so he doesn't just get off paying some stupid little fine for stealing some ketchup._"

Disher allowed for silence to again permeate the conversation, but his legs were shaking like crazy to tell the captain what he had thought of.

"Captain," he said, urgency in his voice.

"_Yeah, Randy?_"

"I think the intruder is also the guy who robbed the pharmaceutical company."

He was met with silence on the other end, and wasn't sure if that was good or bad, so he continued speaking.

"Both Monk's apartment and the pharmaceutical company have the same security systems. What is the chance of more than one person in a short period of time eluding _the_ best security system—"

"_Oh wow, Randy. Ya know, I hadn't even thought of that. That's the connection. Great job, kid._"

Randy beamed from his seat on the rim of the tub. Finally he had beaten somebody experienced to some conclusions. Was he finally becoming competent?

The captain continued speaking. "_So, okay, Renwik stole the succinylcholine from here, got it out there somehow to kill Sharona's mother, then on the day that Monk arrived there to help out with the case, destroys Monk's house. There must be someone out there helping him._"

Randy was still extremely excited, for his piece of information greatly helped to fill in holes in the case.

"So you think the guy that destroyed Monk's house and killed Sharona's mother killed Trudy as well?" he asked the captain.

Suddenly there was a terrible, pained howl and a thud on the other side of the door.

"_What was that, Randy?_" the captain asked, having heard the horrific sound. "_I thought you were alone. Randy, where are you at?_ "

Disher's face turned red, and ashamedly, he looked down at the tiled, rug-less floor. "I'm in the bathroom…."

"_Oh God, Randy. I'll bet Monk heard everything you said._"

Author's note: Now that I finally know how this story is going to end and had the time to write some new chapters, I will finish this up well before the new season of Monk begins. Please have faith and leave me your feedback. I hope that this doesn't get too confusing to follow. Anyway, please let me know your thoughts! --Amymimi


	18. The Consequences of Echoes

Randy ended the call with the captain soon afterwards, cautiously opening the door to the bathroom to see Monk sprawled on his back in the hallway. Natalie was already next to him, squatting down to fan his face, and Sharona had just gotten to her former boss's side.

"Nice goin', Randy!" Sharona groaned, kneeling down next to Monk. Natalie's fanning wasn't doing the trick in helping Adrian recover. All of a sudden, Sharona put her hand over Monk's mouth. Immediately he regained consciousness.

"Ughhh," he moaned, his voice muffled beneath the nurse's hand. He lifted an arm and pushed her hand away quickly, realizing that Natalie had already handed him a wipe.

"Now, that was just uncalled for, Sharona," he scolded her, sitting up and wiping the bottom half of his face. He looked at Randy, his expression changing from irritation to shock.

"What exactly is going on here?" he stammered, a sickly paleness creeping over his features.

Randy sighed, and then looked about himself as if to think of where to start.

Sharona took this time to begin speaking. "What's goin' on here is that—"

"No, no, I can tell him," Randy interrupted. "You see… the thing is, Monk…." He sighed, looking greatly burdened. "After you left, someone broke into your house."

"—But how? My apartment complex has one of the best security systems in San Francisco. I know this, because I made sure of it before even moving there. No one's _ever_ broken in be—"

"—Well, someone did. Someone very good at breaking in. We—well, _I_—have speculated that a guy who broke into the Smith Pharmaceuticals building—"

He stopped at the sight of Monk shaking his head.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"I remember Captain Stottlemeyer mentioning that… Still strikes me as impossible, though; that place is a fortress," Monk said, aghast.

"Yes, a fortress with the same security system as your apartment."

Monk then realized that his hands were touching the bare wooden floor of the hallway. "Wipe."

Sharona made a motion to grab one out of an invisible purse, but Natalie was quicker, having had some in her pocket from dinnertime. He took the wipes and rubbed his hands furiously, trying hard not to make eye contact with Disher.

"Anyway," Disher said, clearing his throat for emphasis, "the guy broke in—"

"—how do you know it's a guy?" Monk cut in. Disher put a finger up, staring off into space.

"Wait—I'm losing my train of thought," he said, looking confused. Suddenly, he remembered. "Anyway, the person broke in and let's say that the intruder doesn't respect order. There was a note the guy left, that he killed Trudy."

There was a stunned silence, as Monk stared at the wall of the hallway. Sharona scoffed; she could see he was staring a hole through a miniscule scuff mark on the wallpaper. Suddenly he looked back at Disher, an incredulous expression on his face.

"—But why would he do that? What would be the motive for doing that?"

"Killing Trudy?"

Monk shook his head quickly.

"No! Breaking in just to leave me that bombshell as a _note_, and then leaving?"

A pause, as Disher thought. Natalie stared at him. Sharona looked deep in thought as well.

"Maybe the killer wanted the cops to be closer on his tail again. Maybe the guy missed the attention the case had when it happened…."

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Monk replied, sighing. "If the _killer_ has the ability to break through that security system—which probably required lots of research and training—he would have done more than just writing a note."

"—That's not all he did, Monk," Disher said, suddenly looking sheepish.

"What do you mean?" The detective looked terrified. Randy swallowed before speaking, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down plainly in his neck.

"He trashed your house." He was met with a silent stare from Monk, so he went on, his eyes wide as he spoke. "Totally wrecked it. It's a complete disas—" Sharona grabbed his arm forcefully, causing him to stop mid-sentence. She mouthed for him to stop describing things.

Monk was breathing unevenly, staring off into the distance as if in another world. Natalie had since become quite concerned. She had never seen her boss undergo this sort of ordeal.

"Adrian, are you alright?" she asked him, moving her hand in front of his face to break his stare. This didn't break his unblinking stare, but he did open his mouth to speak.

"It just doesn't make any sense to me," Monk muttered to no one in particular. "The guy risks setting off that security system, to trash my house and write a _note_? He _had_ to have known I wasn't around."

"Well, we don't know about that—" Suddenly something dawned on Disher, and he could barely hold in his excitement. He stared at Monk, his blue eyes goggling. "When the captain was there, he found a needle with succinylcholine in it. We think he was going to stab you with it. We think it may also be a link to Sharona's mother's killer."

Monk looked incredulous. "This isn't just one of your theories, is it, Lieutenant? Do you know these facts for certain?"

"Yes. We are just trying to connect the dots, is all."

Monk put his hands out to the sides, suddenly looking like he had joined reality again.

"Wait—what day did this happen?"

"It happened earlier today. Around 8 am San Francisco time, which would be… 11 o'clock here, I think."

The detective suddenly looked like he was in pain.

"When in God's name were you going to tell me?" Monk was sinking into panic mode, and he stood up without putting his hands on the floor again.

"We were going to—but we wanted to learn more first, so that you didn't rush back to figure it out yourself—"

"Wait—what did you just say?"

"What?" Randy looked confused. "I said that we didn't want to tell you until we had worked things out a bit, so you wouldn't panic and fly back…. I mean, Trudy's killer was in your _house_!"

It was Natalie's turn to speak. "How did you guys find out about what happened to his place? Did the guy set the security system off or something when he broke in?"

"Nah. We were just driving around, and heard the fire alarm going off." He saw Monk's look of fear and questioning, and went on. "Apparently the guy had gotten past the security system no problem, but he set a small fire in—" he looked at Monk, who now had a look of dawning horror on his face, and his voice dropped. "—well, you know where—and that set off the fire alarm."

"That's it," Monk said. "That's the guy's M.O.."

Natalie and Sharona looked at each other. Disher just scratched his head. "M.O. for which part? Setting the fire?" he inquired.

"The intruder had to find a surefire way to get me to come back to San Francisco. He probably realized after he did all that work… _destroying_… my place… that there'd be no way I'd find out about it, and so he had to improvise. He started the fire to alert the authorities."

"Okay, what about the connection to Trudy then?" Natalie asked him.

Monk sat for what seemed like a half an hour, carefully forming his words.

"The man who killed Trudy is dead. You remember, Sharona, meeting him in Manhattan?"

She nodded, her lips pulled tight. "So he's dead?"

"Yeah, about two weeks after we left he died."

"—But," Natalie blurted, prepared to ask another question.

"The six-fingered man, though he paid to have her killed, didn't actually kill her. So he wouldn't have written a note that said he killed her."

"But, then why would someone do that?" Natalie asked.

"The guy probably knew after he…." His face took on a shade of milky pale, which hugely contrasted with his dark hair, making him look almost vampire-like. He continued his speech "—after he destroyed my house, that that might not be convincing enough to get me to return to San Francisco. He had to increase the urgency of the matter so I'd have no choice but to return. I have a lot of enemies, Natalie. It's probably easy for them to ask around in prison to plan their revenge." His voice dropped low. "They have all the time in the world to scheme. Especially in the hole."

Sharona couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "And how did you come by this information, Adrian?"

He was suddenly very hushed. "It's just prison-talk, Sharona. You wouldn't understand. You've never been in hell."

mmmmmmmmmm

There was a moment of several minutes where no one said anything. Suddenly Sharona broke the silence.

"So you mentioned that the guy wanted to pull Monk away from New Jersey. Do you think he's the only guy involved?"

Monk looked at Disher, who was at a loss for words. "There's more than one. He waited a little while before he… did what he did at my house. Someone's been telling him what I've been up to out here."

"Who do you think it could be?" Sharona said.

Monk shook his head. "I'm not sure; it must be someone at the hospital. Maybe the pathologist… What was his name, John? Natalie, did you see his badge?"

Natalie brightened up. "Something Polish… Markosky?"

Sharona suddenly looked angry. "He's the one who's been cheating with Denise—ya know, the secretary who wouldn't let us in. Wait—why do you think it's him?"

"He kicked Monk out of the examination room," she said. "He really had it out for Monk."

The nurse looked thoughtful. "Maybe Denise let him know about you guys." Her face turned a shade of crimson. "I'm sorry, I think I screwed up the case."

"We still found out how she died!" Monk exclaimed. "We just waited until he went home, then went into the room."

"I need to think about this more," Monk said, scratching his head. "It's getting late. I think we should probably just wait until we go to the hospital to jump to conclusions."

Mmmmmmmmm

The next morning, Sharona, Natalie, and Monk set out for the hospital. Sharona had called off work that day as well, so they wouldn't reveal any clues about knowing her better than they wanted to come across.

"I'm gonna let you guys off in the back parking lot, so no one should be around to see you guys gettin' out of my car again. I don't usually come back here, and most likely most people don't come here. It's a little small. Is that okay?" Sharona asked the pair.

They nodded in assent, noticing that only a couple of employee's cars were parked here, for they had special yellow hospital permits hanging on the rear view mirrors. However, one vehicle did not, yet it had not been ticketed.

"Oh my God," Sharona said. "It's Trevor's truck! What the hell is he doing here?!"

-----

A/N: sorry for the short, not-very-action-y chapter, but there should only be a couple more chapters left before everything is tied together. This chapter was mostly a lot of explanation. Let me know what you think, even if this chapter was a bit boring for you! --Amymimi


	19. The Not So Secret Place

Monk and Natalie sprinted behind Sharona as she ran towards the hospital employee entrance in the back of the building.

Sharona had her cell phone raised to her head and was talking to someone as she ran across the parking lot.

"Sharona, wait!" Monk exclaimed, already short of breath. "We can't all be seen together!"

"Well, maybe you should wait in the car! 'Cause this directly concerns me!" she snapped back, turning her head only briefly to tell off her former boss.

"I'll alert you very subtly for you to call on backup," she told the person on the other end of the line, quickly hanging up afterwards.

She slid her employee ID card and ducked into the entrance just as Natalie grabbed the quickly closing door.

Monk and Natalie watched Sharona run into the door at the back of the hospital. When they arrived in the hospital, she was standing in the hallway, hands on hips, looking hopeless.

"Sharona," Monk whispered. "I think we should go up the stairwell to look for Trevor."

She looked shocked.

"Whaddya talkin' about? No one ever uses that stairwell."

"Just trust me on this one. We need to know where he's going. I'll explain later."

Before he could say any more, Sharona had entered the stairwell.

Suddenly they heard Sharona's panting fall silent, the sound of a cell phone ringing the only noise. The ring was coming from a couple of flights above, but could be heard clearly through the enhancement of sound the staircase provided.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me here?" a woman's voice said, obviously annoyed. A pause followed. "What are you talkin' about; you can't go back to work?" Another pause, as someone else must have been speaking. It was a phone conversation. "Well, that's not my fault; you should've been more careful. You didn't even do what you were supposed to do," the woman said. "You gotta go back to work, so you don't arouse suspicion." Monk thought he recognized the voice, but listened intently to pinpoint it.

"Yeah, it _seems_ stupid, but remember, you owe me…. Yeah, well, it would have been a lot longer than that had I not testified…."

The voice suddenly grew hushed, and they could hear a man speaking.

"So it's not working then?"

Monk stared at another balled-up sticker on the stair, the sticky underside free of the dust and dirt of the rarely-used stairwell.

"Well, the weirdo's still hangin' around, isn't he?" he heard the woman say.

"Yeah," the man replied. "Can you believe? She had the audacity to bring him out here as if to accuse _me_ of what happened."

Sharona sucked in a breath. _Oh, God. Is that who I think it is?_

The woman spoke.

"Well, the important thing is, I've got someone working back in Frisco to make him go away. I didn't even put two and two together until that Baska guy showed up yesterday, and I thought about Sharona's descriptions of her old boss and Baska's weird interest in everything everyone did when he was here."

"I just can't wait until this has all blown over," the man said.

"Even though the circumstances are unfortunate, she now has no real reason to stay here. Maybe she'll go back to Frisco and work for that guy again."

"But she won't want Benjy to be without a father—"

"That's not the point of her stayin' here. Maybe in comin' here, but things haven't been good between you two for ages. She _stayed_ 'cause of her mother. And now, well…."

"I just hate her thinking I had something to do with what happened."

"You have to admit, though; it is rather serendipitous. You'll be free of her for good now."

There was a pause, as the man was considering, apparently. Sharona's face had turned a shade of maroon, and the scowl on her face was actually quite frightening.

"That does tend to be rather odd, for that to happen just as our relationship reaches the next level. Really odd, actually."

"Well, she was old, Trevor. Things do happen."

"The timing is strange, though. And on your ward. The way you put it—"

He sounded suspicious now.

"What are you saying? That _I_ had something to do with it? I was the one to pick her up after she hit the deer! I wasn't there when it happened!"

"I wasn't accusing you. Why do you feel a need to explain yourself?"

Sharona looked at Monk, her face twisted into a scowl of internal torture. _It's Geena_, she mouthed to her former boss. Monk's face lit up with realization, and he nodded in response.

"Because I can tell you're wondering," Geena said. "Don't you believe me?"

"Yes, but—"

"Yes, but _what_?"

"Why did you do that? Why would you have volunteered to pick her up, knowing full well that she's my wife?"

"Well, I—"

Monk turned to Sharona, and mouthed words.

_She's the guy_, he mouthed. _Here's what happened,_ he mouthed.

"I was seeing if she'd mention anything about you being unfaithful," Geena said, a couple of flights above them.

"And why would you care?" the man answered. "She's always been suspicious of me."

Monk leaned in closely to Sharona and Natalie, who stood a step below him, their ears facing his mouth. Sharona opened her phone for the briefest moment, hitting a couple of buttons, and closed it silently.

"She's been cheating with Trevor for a while now," he whispered to the two women. "She wants him all to herself, and believed that Mrs. Fleming was the only thing keeping you around. She blackmailed that ex-con in San Francisco, for whom she committed perjury for in the past during his trial, into stealing succinylcholine, so she could use it on your mother. In that way no succinylcholine would be found missing from this hospital, and could be traced back to its employees. And there'd be more of a fuss about the guy getting past the pharmaceutical company's security system than over a bottle of succinylcholine and a syringe going missing. The syringe that we found containing succinycholine was not from this hospital; I'll bet my life it's from the Smith Pharmaceuticals Company."

"It's just something I was curious about, to see how aware of things she was," Geena said, her voice softer than before.

Monk continued.

"Somehow she knew something was going to happen to you that night. Maybe she sabotaged your car, of that I'm not sure. Anyway, when news of your wreck came in, she volunteered for the job…. then injected your mother with the succinylcholine. Being a nurse, she automatically threw the spent needle in the sharps box, where we found it… Later she realized that she had done this and had to get rid of the evidence, and that's why we found her out by the dumpster, Natalie."

Sharona took a deep intake of breath. Monk's voice grew even softer.

"She then picked you up from the scene of the accident… establishing her alibi. No one would suspect her, being as she wasn't there when your mother – passed away. We arrived, and she then remembered – you'd spoken before of who you used to work for – that you might be calling on me to investigate, and suspected that I was… well, me. So she called her stooge in San Francisco to wreak havoc on things back at my apartment so I'd be convinced to go back home. Claiming to be my wife's killer was supposed to be the clincher."

"I need some time to think about this, Geena," Trevor said.

"Why do you need time?" Geena replied, her voice wafting from above.

"I do believe you; there's no way you could have known about Sharona's wreck in advance. I believe what you're telling me. But maybe we shouldn't be near each other for a while, in case there are any suspicions. Okay?"

There was a silence. More than likely the pair was kissing during this time.

"I'll call you when things go back to normal," Trevor told her, his voice a murmur.

"Oh my God," Sharona murmured, in response to Monk's explanation. "I can't believe we just heard all that. How did you know to come in this stairway to look for Trevor? More importantly, how are ya gonna prove this?"

"We have reason to believe that Trevor meets with her in the stairwell. His nametag…."

"But why were you in the stairwell in the first place? Don't seem like the kinda place you'd like to spend time hangin' out in."

Monk flashed Natalie a look. This was where their quarrel had escalated and had been resolved.

"Trevor already sounds like he's suspicious," Monk replied. "We're going to wait for him to leave and corner him when he comes out. He'll have to admit to the conversation with her, or else he himself could be accused of your mother's murder. Also, I have to tell the captain to look out for Renwik returning to work. He may be able to extract information from him as well. There has to be some way to link Geena directly to this. I just don't know what it is yet."

"Well, what about the syringe?" Natalie asked.

"Anything left on that syringe is long-gone," Monk replied. "We sent it down to the laboratory, and they probably have their fingerprints all over it."

Sharona looked furious enough to attack the pair several flights up; however, Monk grabbed her by a sleeve and started to pull her back down the stairs.

"Come on, Sharona; we have to go wait outside. Their conversation is probably going to be over soon. Doesn't sound like it's going too well."

She obligingly complied, and the trio walked back down the stairs as quietly as possible.

Suddenly, they heard someone descending the stairs behind them. Immediately they ducked back into a darkened corner on the first flight of stairs, Natalie tripping on something plastic, causing a foul-smelling liquid to spill onto the floor.

Monk covered his mouth, temporarily stifling the urge to cough or run away. The odor emanating from the spilled substance was highly concentrated and reeked of a combination of foul odors, one of which was definitely urine.

From their hiding place in the darkness of the first set of stairs, Monk, Natalie, and Sharona heard Trevor coughing as the disgusting smell overwhelmed his senses.

Trevor opened the stairwell door, and emerged into the light, letting in a limited amount of fresh air from the hallway. No one was following him. Geena must have gone back to work. Sharona made a move to follow her husband, her hands covering her mouth and nose, but Monk bravely removed a hand from his face and grabbed her by the arm.

"What is it, Adrian?" she said aloud, causing him to make a shushing sound in response.

"Wipe. Wipe," he said quietly but insistently. Both women went for their purses, retching at precisely the same moment as the whiff of the substance reached their newly exposed noses.

Natalie was the first to hand him a wipe. He began to squat down, his body near Natalie's legs, and the source of the smell. Using the wipe, he picked up the plastic jug by squeezing the front of the jug, where no one would have held the container.

He moved into the light with the jug, soon able to see the label: _C'mere Deer Natural Deer Attractant_.

"Oh my God," Natalie and Sharona said in unison, as they read the label. Of course Sharona wouldn't suspect seeing a group of deer in that particular stretch of road, so it had been the perfect place to draw the deer….

As the trio stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway, they spotted Trevor, who had his back to the entrance to the stairwell.

Sharona boldly stepped up to her husband and tapped on his shoulder. He whirled around.

"Sharona? What are you doing here?" he cried, obviously distressed. It was then that he spotted Monk and Natalie behind Sharona, both pinching their noses shut, Monk holding the jug.

"What is that?" he said, indicating the jug. Monk turned it around so that its label was revealed.

Monk gave him a sly smile, as his face blanched.

"Here's how Geeda dew about Sharoda's wreck id advads," Monk said, having his nose pinched shut with his fingers. "She drew the deer to a stretch of road where she dew doe wudd would suspect to fide theb. Wuds she heard Sharoda wrecked, she idjected Sharoda's buther with ed albost undetectable fatal dose of drug, thed left to pick up Sharoda, so that durig the tibe Bissis Flebig was dyig, she would dot be aroud. It was the perfect alibi… up udtil dow, that is."

Monk, Natalie, Sharona and Trevor soon emerged from the employee entrance of the hospital enveloped in the stench of the deer attractant, to find Lt. Disher and a pair of squad cars.

Sharona gave the blue-eyed lieutenant a big smile, and ran up to him when she saw him getting out of his vehicle.

"You came," she said, relieved. "I'm sorry about the vague signal earlier, but I'm glad you understood it."

"No prob," he responded. "A cop's life is all about noticing the importance of vague clues."

"I'm really glad you knew what to do, because I couldn't type much more than a letter or two, being as I was eavesdropping on the perpetrator, and her cohort." She made a subtle head motion towards Trevor.

"Not sure I'm following—" Disher said, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Nevermind," Sharona snapped. "Monk solved the case."

"Oh," he said in response, his voice dull. He had hoped that he'd be the one to solve it. Sharona could see his face fall.

"He couldn't have done it without your help though, Randy."

Randy's eyes lit up, and he looked at her, a hopeful smile on his face.

"Really?"

"Your connecting Renwik to Smith Pharmaceuticals was the key," she said.

"Really," he said, still disbelieving.

"Yes."

"Eh, I know you're just trying to make me feel bet—"

As soon as Sharona's lips grazed his cheek he fell silent.

The deer attractant jug was admitted as evidence, Trevor was taken in for questioning, and it wasn't long before Geena was arrested in suspicion with the murder, her fingerprints directly linking her to the deer attractant jug, and of course, the damning confession from Trevor. Before Geena was taken into custody, Stottlemeyer had been alerted to Renwik's possible return to work and it wasn't long before he was arrested as well.

Soon it was time for Monk, Natalie, and Randy to return home.

They stood at the airport terminal, Sharona only able to stare at them, speechless.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Natalie asked Sharona.

"I dunno. I think my mom really was the only thing keeping me here. Maybe I'll come back to Frisco at some point, now that I don't have anything else keeping me here. Confession or no, Trevor was completely fine with cheating on me with Geena for months on end."

Sharona made a move towards Randy Disher, who for some reason still had his bags in hand, even though they were too big for carry-on.

"You haven't checked in your luggage yet, Randy," she informed him.

"I know," he said carefully.

"You're not gonna be able to bring 'em home with you if they aren't carry-on size," she continued.

"That's fine." He shrugged, smiling at the nurse.

"What do you mean? You're gonna leave 'em here?"

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly, watching her with wide eyes. "I was just thinking that… maybe you'd like the company of a cop for awhile; you know, for protection and… stuff like that."

She smirked at him mischievously.

"I'd like that," she replied, watching the boyish smile spreading across his face in response.

Monk and Natalie watched Randy in his awkwardness, as he tried to put an arm around Sharona. It was almost enough for Natalie to say _awww_.

After Disher had moved beside Sharona with his assortment of luggage, Sharona gave Monk a big hug and even a kiss on the cheek. Knowing him very well from the years they had worked together, she immediately handed him a wipe after the kiss. However, upon receiving the wipe, Monk merely looked at it without using it for its intended purpose, not noticing the pang of envy Natalie was feeling at this development.

"Adrian, I don't know how I can ever thank you for doin' what you did," she told her former boss.

"Here's how: keep in touch," he simply replied with a shy smile.

Sharona also gave a strained hug to Natalie, who moved away from the nurse feeling slightly better about things.

Natalie then looked over at Monk as he closed his carry-on suitcase one final time, a large framed picture of Trudy atop the pile of his most important luggage items, acutely aware of the unending presence of his silver wedding band and the unwavering devotion he would always have for his late wife. There was no way she'd want to force him to move on from Trudy, unless he chose to do so himself. There was also no way to know if her budding relationship with Monk would ever completely materialize or develop into anything more. Even so, she was the one that Monk was going home with, in the end. And that was all that mattered to her at the moment.

Of course, there was that issue with his apartment.

The pair headed towards their gate, Natalie's arm around Monk's back.

"How about this, Adrian? You can stay at my house for a week or so."

"But why would I want to do that? My place is—" he looked at her, and seeing her sheepish expression, blanched.

"No problem. Everything will be restored to normal. No more stains and broken—" She covered her mouth with her free hand.

"Stains? What all did the guy do? Do you know, Natalie? Tell me."

"It won't matter, because it will all be—"

"Come on, Natalie. Okay—if you tell me all that happened, you can then ask a favor of me. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

"Actually, I'd rather skip that whole part and not have you a nervous wreck."

He flashed her a look of exasperation.

"Okay," she replied, shrugging and dropping her hands at her sides, "I guess we're too late to avoid that. It's not going to help you to know what went down there."

"Oh God. Went down. That doesn't sound good. Oh God."

Natalie gave him a comforting pat on the back, dropping her hand back down immediately afterwards.

"It's not so bad, really," she replied. "There's really no use to tell you—"

"When I go back home, Natalie, I'm not going to know what happened to my floor, to my furniture… I'll certainly have to fumigate the whole place, and then buy all new stuff, unless you tell me what happened."

She rolled her eyes, realizing that if he did this, she'd be getting next to no paycheck from him for the next couple of months. It was a rather good threat he had made, and one he would not hesitate to follow through with. She really didn't want to return to the barkeep or card dealer business….

"Okay, okay, if I tell you, will you promise to be a good boy on the plane and not freak out?"

He scoffed. "That's two favors, not even mentioning how difficult they'd—"

"Okay, once I tell you, you can't go buy all new stuff."

"That request will only work for me not buying one item in particular—I did say one favo—"

Natalie suddenly smiled. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged, and he could be kept calm. In all honesty, planes still scared her quite a bit—at least with this favor _she_ might be at ease.

"How about this then—I still don't like planes, and neither do you, so it'd only be beneficial to the two of us if we—"

Before she could even say the words, she felt Monk's hand close around her own. Natalie looked up at him to see him flash her a brief but genuine smile.

"Since you're so good at mind-reading, Adrian, maybe you can just gather from my mind what happened in your apartment, rather than have me explain it."

"Ha ha, good one," he replied, giving her hand a little squeeze. "I almost forgot to laugh."

"Well, I guess you could call this the calm before the storm," Natalie muttered, disappointed that this lively banter would probably change to him wailing and her trying to calm him down.

"You know what," he said, suddenly stopping in place, yet not letting go of her hand. "Maybe the news can wait. I'd rather not spoil…." He looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling shy. She heard herself sigh with relief.

"I agree with you on that."

He looked at her, letting out a chuckle.

"Really," he said dryly. "I would never have guessed that."

At that, Natalie gave his hand a little squeeze and he fell silent as they began walking again.

-----

A/N: Sorry, I didn't like the last ending as much. I hope you guys like this one better! Thanks for the feedback on the last one, Bob Wright! I agree with a lot of the stuff you said!


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